


Running Home

by MorganEAshton



Category: The Adventure Zone: Amnesty (Podcast)
Genre: 9/11 was a major event for two characters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Continuous Traumatic Stress Disorder - CTSD, Developmental Trauma Disorder - DTD, Different chapters have different POV characters, Established Vampfire, F/F, Headcanon, Indrid has both of those, M/M, Mothman is actually moth-like, POV Third Person Limited, Slow Burn Indruck, Spoilers up to Episode 23, Trans Duck Newton, Will have a happy ending, and multiple other characters display trauma symptoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-11-15 20:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 52,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganEAshton/pseuds/MorganEAshton
Summary: Indrid Cold usually flees like a man escaping nuclear meltdown. After Silver Bridge, he didn't get within three states of West Virginia for almost half a century. This time wasn't supposed to be any different.When a vision drags Indrid back to Kepler, he's forced to face his greatest fears.  Hunted by a woman who will take him down by any means necessary, and without his clairvoyance or a means of escape, he has to trust in his friends while also facing off against humanity's dark side.  Could it be the path to healing, redemption, or even love?  Could someone who's failed again and again to rescue anyone actually help to save two worlds?(Latest Installment: Leo meets someone special.)





	1. Cowardice

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story hit me like a brick to the face and then wouldn't let me rest until I wrote it. I started it between Episodes 23 and 24, and it's already changed since I initially conceptualized it. While my starting plan was to just write and see what happened, the plot quickly materialized into something much more complex and vivid. While this is primarily Indrid's story and he's mentioned at least once in every chapter, the story is told through the views of many different characters in both Kepler and Sylvain. At its core, it's a story about relationships and how they impact each of our lives differently. It's a story about trauma, and the healing from it, and it's become a very special and personal part of my own journey. I'm a homoflexible, demi transguy who suffers from pretty severe complex trauma, so that has become deeply woven into the narrative. I hope that you enjoy going on this journey with me. ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is "Wisdom Cries", by Aurora. [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFf-qGxxT18) | [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/3tooD9QjLYtV7hdSN9khXc?si=eOvvU7DiTxKIsXu9CDnoWQ)
> 
> It can also be found on my [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/morganeashton/playlist/72ZmRIYC3KAQ2k8cdiVrXf?si=FDBvdq6AQfS4G1py65_HKw) for this fic.

Indrid Cold usually flees like a man escaping nuclear meltdown. After Silver Bridge, he didn't get within three states of West Virginia for almost half a century. This time wasn't supposed to be any different.

He's shaking when he pulls into the Hyacinth RV park in Slaty Fork, barely ten miles outside Kepler. He's shaking too much to drive, and he's shaking because he can't bring himself to keep driving.

Magically forging paperwork is a simple task, so the park manager thinks Indrid's name is Glenn Calloway. Says, "You look like you need a rest, Glenn. I'll make this quick. You should really put an ice pack on that cheek, you know," and rings up the overnight fees. He has four dogs. One of them is going to puke in his son's soccer cleats. The family is going to passive-aggressively bicker about it for the next four days.

Indrid could do something. He could tell the man to sit down and talk with his son. He could anonymously call the manager's home. His wife--Hyacinth, like the name on the worn wooden sign above them--would probably pick up, and then Indrid could tell her to make sure little Warren cleans up his equipment after practice. Either option would save the family some grief.

But then there'd be fear, and then suspicion, and somehow that suspicion would end up turned towards Indrid, and--

"Glenn? You okay, there? I asked if you need a receipt."

"No, that's quite alright. Thank you, Le--" he stops himself and looks at the other man. The fluttering in his stomach only lessens slightly when he finds a name tag. "Thank you, Lewis." His smile is broken. It's been broken ever since Keith caught sight of his hulking silhouette, lit from behind by a hot, angry orange, red eyes glowing brightly enough to be seen through the tinted windows of his Winnebago....

He only manages to stay until 2:37 AM.

Indrid pulls over on the side of 219 South; accidentally crushes his McDonald's Riddler glass between his quaking hands.

He stares at the nog running through his fingers. Billy's version was funnier.

\--------

He's driving in circles, and any time he gets close to passing a 20 mile radius from Kepler he feels like he's going to faint. It's like he's tied to one of the push pins on the map still tacked to his cork board, and if he were to go further than his string would allow, he'd die. Maybe he's been an abomination ("bom-bom," chastises the memory of Aubrey's voice) all along. Maybe if he makes it another week without getting hunted down, he'll be free of whatever it is keeping him tethered to that place.

The week comes and goes.

\--------

The moon is waxing gibbous when Indrid runs out of RV parks and rest stops. Returning to the Hyacinth is his best bet. There's only one possible future where he makes Lewis suspicious enough for someone to get called in. The probability is low, but it still feels like too much risk. He could change his disguise, but his Winnebago is too recognizable. He could disguise his RV, but the amount of energy for an enchantment of that scale could be too much for the measly crystal around his neck. He has to protect the shard, because it's the only thing that allows him to be so mobile, and it's his only ticket back to Sylvain in an unlikely future where he decides to return.

The only safe option is to go further away from Kepler.

He's made it nearly to Dyer when futures spring to his mind with such clarity and intensity that he swerves and hits a spruce, and his forehead on the steering wheel.

\--------

His head is pounding, and there's wetness in his hair and a splintering crack through the right side of his vision. White light is filtering in through the red of his newest charm.

He foresees a blurry scene of a car pulling over next to his crashed trailer. Two minutes. He has two minutes.

He tries to start the Winnebago, but the sound that comes out of the engine is a horrible grinding screech. He tries again. Again.

One minute left.

Indrid stumbles when he stands. He thinks distantly that he needs to stop taking hits to the face. There's still shards of commemorative cup on his floor, glued to the linoleum by crusted-over eggnog. The Riddler's hat tries to pierce the sole of his foot, but it reminds him to put on shoes.

He wanders into the woods, unsteady, as the woman pulls up and shouts, "Mister? Hey, mister, are you alright? Sir?"

The hand on his shoulder causes Indrid to lash around reflexively. A larger hole opens in the red over his right eye as a chunk dislodges from his glasses and drops to the forest floor.

He sees a hundred ways the woman screams just before he feels the enchantment lose its integrity, like a radio station dropping as you enter the quiet zone, and he runs.

The woman still screams (She only wanted to help. In almost all her futures, he sees the way the cops and her friends think she's gone insane. He sees the hope leave her eyes over the next month of nightmares and loneliness. She may never try to help anyone again. She may never get the help she deserves. Her name is Brigitte Parker.) but Indrid's already tearing through the trees. He's on all six legs, mandibles cutting through branches and vines-- _Sorry, Duck. First that beautiful tree, and now this_ \--trying to get deeper, trying to hide, hide, hide...

The futures tear into his head again, all chainsaws and icepicks, as he breaks into a clearing. It's the opposite of the dark shelter he wanted, but there's a wide swath of open ground. He crouches and flings rocks and pine needles aside. Then he draws with four hands at once, claws in the loamy earth, until visions of Kepler lie before him in the dirt.


	2. Vulnerability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be no more secrets in Kepler today.

Hollis didn't know they could feel a fear this deep. They used to think they were brave, but as they clutch a fallen police officer's gun, their aim is unsteady and their vision is swimming with panicked tears.

It's not even the monster that terrifies Hollis most; it's the fire dancing off of Aubrey Little's hands, the voice coming out of Duck Newton's sword, the burning beams from Ned Chicane's _plastic_ gun. It's that, just last night, they watched the old grocer wield a broadsword with all the confidence of a fairy tale knight, and still almost die to this thing.

It's that they've fought their whole life to be tough and confident, but they're woefully unprepared for any of this.

Three Hornets have been cut down today. Most of the others fled. Keith, who's already been through too much, has the baseball bat Hollis dropped in one hand, and his best friend Darren's crowbar in the other. It's still covered in Darren's blood, and Keith is stalking forward as if he's the monster here, teeth bared.

"Move it, kid! Are you insane?" Ned Chicane fires off a shot through the creature's left shoulder. There's an explosion of particles, which immediately coalesce back on the beast's body and refill the hole.

Wind pushes it diagonally back from Aubrey Little's direction just as it raises a gigantic, clawed limb.

The monster still has its eyes locked on Keith as it shakes off the effects of the magic--fucking _magic_ \--and crouches, ready to pounce.

"Come and get me, you bastard! I'm not afraid of you anymore!" Hollis' lieutenant and friend continues to stalk towards the gaping maw of death before him.

Two things happen at once: The monster takes a flying leap in Keith's direction, and something blots out the sun.

Keith falls, and barely blocks the thing's teeth from his throat with the bat. He's hitting it ineffectually with the crowbar, and he's going to die. He's going to die, and Hollis has to do something, so they steady their aim--

Another gust of wind blows the monster back, but this time Aubrey Little just says "What the...?" and stares in confusion.

Then a second monster drops out of the sky and lands hunched over Keith.

Hollis yells and pulls the trigger, but something knocks into them and the shot goes into the pavement.

"Whoa, no! He's on our side!" It's Duck Newton, body between Hollis and this new threat, hand clamped around their wrist.

"Let me go! It's gonna kill Keith!"

"He's here to _save_ Keith! Look!"

Before Hollis, the creature stands. It's easily upwards of eight feet tall and covered in a coarse, mottled fuzz. It unfolds from around Keith and spreads massive wings, before stepping over him and towards the monster. "Would someone please get him to safety?" it says in a perfectly pleasant voice.

A trembling, but surprisingly unhurt Keith is dragged backwards by Ned Chicane, who grumbles, "Coulda shown up sooner."

"Ignore him! You're just in time, Indrid!" Aubrey Little chirps with a thumbs-up.

Hollis doesn't know anything anymore.

The creature--Indrid? It has a name?--squares up and opens everything further, making itself even larger and more imposing.

The monster stares for a beat, then it stands tall and rearranges its particles to form a mirror image of its new opponent.

Hollis knows about the Mothman. They remember when they were little and they asked their parents to take them to the Cryptonomica. They remember the books they used to check out from the library as a preteen. They most definitely remember that the stories said seeing the Mothman's face is supposed to fill you with a blind panic. 

They didn't believe cryptids really existed, until Keith described what he saw in the Eastwoods Campground. They didn't believe that a look alone could make their blood run cold, until now.

As if it can sense Hollis' fear, the monster turns with its bulging, red eyes towards them, then snaps its sharp mandibles in the air.

"I'm gonna go try and help," Duck Newton says and readies his blade. He looks deathly pale. "Stay back, and don't shoot Indrid, okay?"

Hollis nods and moves closer to Keith.

"I think we should keep this between us, if you wouldn't mind," says the Mothman with a great flap of its wings that lifts it a couple feet off the ground. The copy sees this and follows its lead, and then the two are shooting upwards. Fifty feet, a hundred, and as they swoop higher and circle each other Hollis can no longer tell which is which.

"Damnit," says Duck Newton, and the hand with his sword falls limply by his side. Aubrey Little and Ned Chicane are standing at the ready, but neither of them dares to act.

Hollis doesn't share their reservations. They aim into the sky and fire.

One of the Mothmen locked eyes with them just before they pulled the trigger and dragged the other in front of itself at the last moment. There's a horrible piercing cry as the thing's left wing bursts into a flurry of light. Then the two are coming down like lead, grappling and spinning through the air in a tangle of limbs, so quickly that the monster's dislodged particles can't quite catch up. At the last moment, one of them gets the upper hand and forces the other back-down into the asphalt of Main Street.

The one on top is making strange whimpering cries, batting away the weak swipes from the second's claws. Then it shoves two hands over the creature's eyes, slamming its head to the ground with a sickening crunch.

There's a scream, and a flash of blinding orange light that makes Hollis turn away.

When they can see again, Hollis looks to find the real Mothman backing up like it's been burned, doubled over and clutching all four segmented hands to the center of its thorax. The monster is still on the ground, pure light except for a few stray particles orbiting its face.

"Someone finish it! Please! Before it recovers!" The Mothman's--Indrid's voice is strained and high. Terrified.

Duck Newton raises his blade, and the sword actually laughs as it strikes through the monster's center of mass.

Everything goes quiet.

The monster's four arms, which had groped upwards in a last-ditch attempt at saving itself, relax. Its fingers curl and it gingerly touches the place where the sword is still piercing its chest. It slowly blinks its beady black eyes up towards Duck Newton, then it closes them and breaks apart like dust and floats towards the darkening sky.

Doors open as the residents of Kepler notice that the fight is over. People begin to file out of restaurants and stores, taking in the tableau before them. Nobody speaks.

The only sound is coming from Indrid, who has begun making those pained whimpers again. He looks around at the growing crowds, and Hollis, impossibly, can see the raw humanity in his grotesque face.

He turns in a circle, taking unsteady steps backwards from the three people now reaching out to him. Then his wings shoot outward again, and he takes off into the twilight.

"Indrid, wait!" Aubrey Little is running after him, but she only makes it about twenty steps before she loses him completely. The other survivors stand silent as melancholy falls, like night casting a blanket over them all.

"What the hell is going on?" Keith says.

Hollis isn't sure they wish they knew.


	3. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern tries to do someone else's job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new version of Chapter 3. For the few of you who saw the original before I deleted it, this one's quite a bit different. I cut the original chapter into two (the second half is now Chapter 4), fleshed everything out, and altered Stern to feel more canon-compliant instead of just "generic FBI agent". I also fleshed out an OC who will play a role later. The whole tone is different, and it now better fits the theme of the story. Overall, I'm way happier with this draft, and glad I did this.

April 12th will mark six years since Agent Stern was accepted into the FBI, and over three since he joined the Unexplained Phenomena division. Come June, it'll have been 34 years since the camping trip when he first saw Bigfoot.

At least one verified sighting is required for transfer into UP. Every member was once a skeptic, whose skepticism crumbled in the face of evidence. Faulkner's technically the one with jurisdiction of the Mothman case. She switched departments after 9/11. When her peers in National Security were having nightmares about the towers going down, she dreamt of the red eyes that had looked right at her in a window's reflection. She dreamt of the living shade that took flight and disappeared into the smoke and chaos.

Stern's had a Mothman encounter now, and he's gotten authorization to pursue.

He's not a spiteful man, but he's kind of looking forward to laughing in Faulkner's smug face. That is, assuming he can catch the beast. A good agent never counts his chickens before they're hatched.

The Mothman must be injured, because occasionally Stern will look up to find bent branches and a dusting of feathery scales. He collects the ones he can reach in an evidence bag. They're various shapes and sizes, so they're likely being shed from multiple places. Most of them are a dull white-grey, but one in twenty or so is the shiny, iridescent black from the stories he's heard too many times to count.

He's been tracking the thing through the Monongahela for two hours when the trail of broken branches takes a steep turn down through the pines. He doesn't need his training to follow it anymore, not when there's a deep, long furrow in the earth. There are too many scales to fit in the bag, presumably scraped from the creature as it dragged itself along the forest floor.

He almost feels sorry for it.

Any pity leaves him when the thick growth gives way to a wide open space, because there it is. Less than five feet away, the Mothman has its terrible face turned towards Stern as he emerges. It's even worse than it was in town, with whole patches of scales missing to reveal naked carapace underneath.

He struggles for a moment to remember the protocol for sapient UPs, heart pounding in his ears. Diffuse, disable, deploy. Diffuse, disable, deploy....

"Don't come any closer," it says. A mouth that shape should not be able to form words. The voice is tinged with feral mania.

Stern steps forward, hands in a placating gesture in front of him. He hopes Faulkner is wrong, and the Mothman is the predictor of misfortune, and not the cause. He wishes he had backup. He was supposed to be here on a recon mission. He doesn't have any of the usual tools for a capture--his best bet is to knock it out, tie it up as well as he can with one set of cuffs and maybe his jacket, and then call for a helicopter--but the full task team won't arrive until late morning, at best.

"I'm warning you!" It struggles convulsively onto all of its legs, wings fluttering behind it. Then it collapses again.

It's pure self-preservational reflex that causes him to draw his firearm instead of the tazer. He points it at the creature's chest, where it's holding something close.

It stares back, unblinking, with its nauseating blood-red eyes. "Please. Please just leave me alone...."

He could. He's got solid evidence, between the scales and the video clip he took in town. This isn't his job. He could let Faulkner take care of it tomorrow. She's the one who came into UP with a Medal of Honor from the Gulf War and education on how to fight terrorists; Stern was Science and Tech. He already gets ridiculed for being a nerd; what's one more thing, if it gets him out of this alive?

The Mothman must see him hesitate, because it spreads its wings and tries to fly off. It's lopsided, and it only gets a few feet closer to the center of the clearing before it cries out and tumbles back to the ground.

His stomach churns as realization dawns.

Faulkner's accounts of the malice she sensed that day, her insistence about the Mothman's key role in the crashes, the swatter and bug spray she always keeps in her desk: It all reeks of a paranoid conspiracy theory. How could a cryptid have had anything to do with a Taliban attack?

Stern only caught the tail end of the battle on Main Street, and he was too far to hear any of what was said. He didn't actually see the Mothman's role. He only saw the aftermath and the bodies, and he assumed.

Stern is a scientist and a good American. Everything is false until it's proven true, and everyone is innocent until proven guilty.

He holsters his gun. He puts a hand on his tazer, just in case, and steps forward again. "Are you hurt?"

The Mothman's head whips around to face him. "What?"

He repeats himself.

"No." It considers him, mandibles flexing lightly.

Stern stops. "Then what's wrong?"

Its voice is suddenly much gentler. "I'm dying."

He lets go of the tazer, too. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes." It pulls one of the black scales off the base of a wing, and watches Stern over its shoulder. It tilts it and reflects a moonbeam off the surface, right into his eyes. "I'd appreciate it if you'd turn your back, leave, and never speak of this again."

He doesn't go, arm up to shield his face.

"Do you want me to live, Rodney Stern?" There's surprise in its tone.

A shiver runs up his spine. "Y-Yes."

"Then do as I say." It faces towards the empty air in front of it once more.

Stern reaches towards the creature, then draws his hand back. He walks away.

Behind him through the trees, there's light. Wind whips past him with enough force that he almost trips on a root.

He looks.

The Mothman surges forward with one last burst of strength and drags itself into the glow.


	4. Admiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting your idols never goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're one of the few people who read the original Chapter 3, with both Stern's and Vincent's POVs, please go back and read the new version. I've split the chapter into two: Stern is Ch. 3, and Vincent is here. Both of them have more than doubled in length, and this one extends past where the original Ch. 3 ended. They're both SO MUCH BETTER. Seriously, make sure you read the new versions, because the changes will affect everything that comes after.

Vincent is almost to his favorite scene in _The Place Beyond the Pines_ when the door to his chambers bursts open.

The Captain of the Guard is panting. "Sir, you're needed immediately at the gate."

Vincent pauses his movie, stands, and scowls. "This had better be an emergency. I'm off-duty."

"The seer has returned."

There isn't a soul in Sylvain who doesn't know of Indrid Cold. Vincent, most importantly, knows that Cold was the primary reason sylphs still have any peaceful relations at all with humans--humans with their films, and their television, and their books--after the attack.

He was just a kid when the Court Seer left for Earth and then disappeared. He never met or even saw the guy, but Vincent's heard every story there is about the tall shadow who once roamed the castle halls, of eyes like thousand-faceted rubies that could see all possibilities at once in the marble and the faces of his peers. There are still sooty stains at the tops of certain doorframes, where Cold's antennae used to brush against them. Vincent knows the location of every one.

The day he was appointed Minister of Defense, it was Janelle who drew the short straw and had to give him the castle tour. Their last stop was the defense headquarters, and Vincent froze in his tracks when he found the back wall adorned with the largest depiction of his hero that he'd ever seen.

"Oh, Indrid." The Minister of the Arcane let out a somber sigh. It was the first emotion besides impatience she'd shown since the tour began.

"What was he like?"

"He was quiet," Janelle replied, face tilted up towards the mural of Cold's most famous prophecy. "He kept to himself when he wasn't predicting something dire. Most everyone here was afraid of him, Woodbridge most of all, but take my word for it as his magic tutor," she twisted her lips wryly, "the only thing frightening about him was his poor excuse for organization and hygiene."

Vincent fidgeted. He much preferred his mental image of a regal, intimidating Indrid Cold. "Did he really...look like that? I've never met a moth with mandibles."

"Yes. He was a relic. His family is one of the oldest left. I'm not even sure that kind of moth still exists on Earth." She checked her pocket watch. "Now, as much as I'd love to reminisce about my former pupil, I have work I should be doing. I trust you can find your way from here?"

Vincent nodded and studied the mural for another ten minutes after that. The painting depicted the seer, lit from beneath, with his wings spread and his four branchlike hands outstretched over a morbid scene. In the center was the Heart of Sylvain, cracked down the center and surrounded by the bodies of humans and sylphs alike.

It was a stark reminder of how much pressure Vincent was under in his new job. He wished he had someone to warn him if something like that was going to happen again, even if it didn't do much good the last time.

His pace slows as they approach the gate. He's not sure he's ready for this. What if Cold isn't what he expects? What if he's an asshole? It isn't until Vincent gets close enough to see that the guards have their spears drawn that he breaks into a run and bursts through the ranks.

Nothing could have prepared him for the shell of a sylph before him, patchy scales gone mostly grey, an antenna bent and the ends of his wings tattered.

Cold is cowering. His huge, lanky body is doubled over and trembling violently. His eyes are dull. The only thing he's wearing is a chain with a single piece of what appears to be cracked quartz from Earth.

"What's going on?" He has to force out the words.

"I'll explain everything, but first I need to touch the Heart of Sylvain. I don't have much energy left." He cradles the pendant in his spindly fingers. He sounds so different to what Vincent imagined.

They're surrounded by gasps and murmurs.

Woodbridge's high voice pierces through the din, as the ghost floats to Vincent's side. "So, _Indrid_ , you've finally decided to show your face again. I'm not surprised it's taken you this long. After such a disgrace, I hope you've brought back something useful." The Minister of Preservation seems like he's about to say something else, but then he actually looks at the subject of his scorn, eyes locked on the necklace. "What. Have. You. _Done_? How?!"

It's then that Vincent understands. After Cold's last major vision failed to save the Heart of Sylvain, he led a small expedition to Earth in search of a way to restore their world. He enchanted disguises for his team, and appealed to the council to provide each explorer with a piece of the already-splintered crystal.

The seer's is completely drained of life.

That's grounds for permanent exile.

Oh Sylvain, Vincent's going to have to exile Indrid Cold.

No. There has to be an explanation, and he's going to find out what it is. "Ella, Rylan, help Seer Cold to the heart."

"Absolutely not!" Woodbridge shouts, putting himself between the guards and Cold as if they couldn't just walk through him. "We don't even know what happened to his shard. What if he drains the entire planet?"

Cold chuckles softly. "I assure you that if I had that kind of power, Woodbridge, I wouldn't be in this little predicament."

Vincent grits his teeth and stands his ground. "We need to know what happened. He can't tell us, if he's dead."

"May I propose a deal, ministers?"

Woodbridge crosses his arms and stares the seer down. "I'm listening."

"I am unable to stand on my own. The guards will have to carry me. They can ensure I get just enough energy to survive, and then pull me away."

"Fine," says the spectre. "But I want extra guards present, to make sure you don't try anything funny."

Vincent almost goes lightheaded with relief. He nods to his troops, then he leads the procession back towards the castle, Woodbridge floating beside him.

The streets go silent save for the sounds of footsteps and nearly Cold's entire legs and abdomen dragging along the ground. News travels fast, because everyone in town is out except for Heathcliff. In the castle courtyard, the line at the heart defers without complaint, moving to allow the group to pass.

"One hand," warns Woodbridge. "And only enough energy to live."

Vincent watches Cold struggle to lift an arm. Then he does something insane: He reaches out, takes his hero's hand, and presses it to the Crystal's surface. He holds it there as the glow returns to Cold's eyes, and he holds it there as Woodbridge screams, "Enough! I said _enough_!"

He only lets go when Cold himself speaks.

"That's plenty," he says. "Thank you."

Vincent backs up and kneels in reverence. His guards follow, then everyone in the courtyard does, as well, save for Woodbridge, and Janelle standing at the castle doors.

Indrid Cold gets his footing. Then he unfolds as if emerging from his cocoon, and stands to his full, towering height. "We are all in grave danger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: After Griffin mentioned Indrid's mandibles, I did some research and found that moths with mandibles do exist. There just aren't many left, and they're primitive species. A bunch of them are also REALLY shiny. If you want to see them, there's a nice collection of photos [HERE](https://mothphotographersgroup.msstate.edu/fast.php?plate=40&size=m&sort=p). This led me to think that insects were probably some of the first creatures that came through the gates, and so it's not unreasonable to think that Indrid's family could have been from an ancient moth species that may now be extinct.
> 
> Also, when I was coming up with headcanons I (mis?)remembered that Griffin said Indrid's moth form was white (the Wiki backs this up, but I can't find it in the actual canon, so ???), but all the Mothman legends are about a black creature. So I thought it'd be fun to base his coloring on his hair in his human disguise. I love the idea of there being changes to the disguise (like going grey) that happen parallel to the sylph form. I don't know if a moth could go grey/white if it lived long enough (and lived under the kind of stress Indrid's in), but he's a magic moth man, so whatever.


	5. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is a wraith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story's gotten a lot more extensive in the past couple days. I know the major plot, now, and I'm really excited to reveal it. I've also gained a new understanding of the format I'm going for, so things should go more smoothly while writing future chapters than they did for this one. Huzzah! I hope you're all as thrilled to see where this goes as I am. ♥
> 
> Song for this chapter (and for Ned's guilt about Aubrey in general) is "Incident at White Hen", by Daniel Knox. [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciuPp2-BJFo) | [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/6ex5IuK7zG3EkqKDsXZEm1?si=V0qWhwdUSxmojbmp1DMJPw)  
> It can also be found on the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/morganeashton/playlist/72ZmRIYC3KAQ2k8cdiVrXf?si=6jmWGeymQA-xjbGpl_lCCw).

Ned knows a disaster when he sees one, and this? This, friend reader, is a Grade A, bona fide crisis.

The shock is starting to wear off the crowd, which means things are about to get real ugly, real quick. A kid starts crying somewhere over by the Dehumidifier Depot. Not a great sign, especially when there are three dead Hornets and two dead cops in the street. Right on cue, there are sirens in the distance.

"Nothing to see here, folks! Go back to your lives, and leave this to the professionals." He leans the NARF blaster against one shoulder and hisses under his breath, "We need to get out of here, stat."

"What about them?" Duck gestures towards Keith and Hollis as he coils Beacon around his hips.

"Fuck, I don't know. I guess they can come with?"

Duck nods and ushers the pair in the direction of the Crêpes by Monica truck.

Aubrey is still standing down the street, arms wrapped around herself as she looks towards the sky where Indrid fled.

They do not have time for this. "Come on. We need to check in with Mama and Barclay and see if we can salvage this."

"I just wanted to give him his glasses back," she says.

What's he supposed to say to that? Even if Indrid'd had his specs, the cat's already out of the bag. At least this way nobody can make a connection between the sylph and his disguise. Ned settles on, "Next time," even though he's lying through his teeth. Moth boy's probably long gone by now, and if Ned thought he wasn't gonna be back after the last time, he's absolutely sure of it now.

Aubrey turns around, wraps her arms around his neck, and clings.

He's the last person who should ever try to comfort Aubrey Little, but he's the one who's there, so he gives her shoulderblades an awkward little pat. Then he guides her to where Duck's already set up shop with Hollis and Keith, dressing their surface injuries with a first aid kit. He takes a moment to make sure everyone's good and the truck's secure, then he climbs into the driver's seat and books it across town.

If he speeds, well then who's to stop him?

Mama busts through the door as soon as they pull up. "What in the living name of fuck-all is going on out there? Jake just came in blubbering about rioting in the streets."

"It's bad, Mama. It's real bad." Duck's already headed towards the cellar with the Hornets, but he says something to them and doesn't follow them in.

"The hell are they doing here?"

Ned answers. "Bad news: Everyone knows. Good news: We've got some new recruits." He goes to lock up and notices Aubrey still in the back of the truck. His intestines churn at the sight of her, curled into herself. "Hey, let's go. Meeting."

"Huh?" She looks up at him, though he can't see her eyes through her sunglasses. "Oh, right. Yeah." She hops out and wanders across the lot.

Mama has the bridge of her nose pinched between thumb and forefinger. "Shit, y'all. The hell am I gonna do with you?" She turns and almost runs into Duck. "Now what?"

"Sorry, uh. I wouldn't normally say we should split up, but I'm worried about the people in town. Maybe me and Ned should go back out in the truck, and Aubrey can fill you and Barclay in?" He rubs the back of his neck.

Ned is relieved. He needs to check on the Cryptonomica. "Yeah, we can go out with the police scanner, see what kind of SNAFU we're actually dealing with, here."

"We'll give you a call and tell you how it goes?"

Mama runs a hand through her hair. "Alright, you two. Be careful out there, y'hear?"

Duck climbs in the passenger side. "Trust me when I say I've gotten real good at careful lately." He taps his helmet and then pointedly buckles his seatbelt.

Mama catches them before they can drive off. "Maybe y'all should grab some overnight stuff while you're out. We can set you up here until it's safer."

Ned nods and heads out. It's nice to have a moment's reprieve to just drive and look and listen, even if the world's gone to shit outside the walls of the truck.

"You know what's up with Aubrey?" Damnit, Duck.

Ned grits his teeth. "She's upset about Indrid."

The ranger leans back in his seat, thoughtful. "Yeah, that checks out. I mean, she's been holdin' onto his glasses ever since the tree. I think she regrets egging him on, and the whole thing with Keith."

"Well, she shouldn't." Ned isn't quite sure why he just said that.

Duck seems taken aback. "Why d'you reckon?"

"It's his own fault, innit? If he'd just told us the damn things were his disguise charm and given us the spares in the first place, we woulda left him alone about it."

"Yeah..." He shifts in his seat and looks out the window.

Ned drives in silence to Duck's apartment complex.

"Uh, thanks bud. Wanna meet back at the lodge, or...?"

"Yeah. Probably better to have more vehicles handy. And I don't want cat fur in my truck."

Duck gets out and shifts from foot to foot, walks a few steps, stops. Comes back.

Ned sighs and rolls down the window.

His friend leans on the window sill. "You okay?"

"I'm _fine_."

"No offense, but you're lyin' about as good as me right now."

Ned's fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "Are you telling me you're not stressed out, Duck? Because, in case you haven't noticed, this sucks."

"Naw, man. I'm fuckin' terrified." He chuckles, and there's no humor in it. "But, you know. Just. We're here for you, yeah? Me and Aubrey, and the rest. At least we can be scared together."

There's that nauseated feeling again. Ned forces a smile. "Thanks. Uh, same to you, and all that."

Duck nods and gets up. He waves as the window closes again, and goes up to his apartment. He sneaks one last look towards Ned before he goes in.

Ned shuts off the scanner as he drives. He's got a pretty good idea of what's going on already, and he's suddenly really feeling the Flash Gordon soundtrack.

Someone steps into the road about a block away from the Cryptonomica and doesn't seem intent on moving. When Ned sees who it is, he almost decides to run him down, but his traitor of a foot hits the brakes instead of the gas.

("No one but the pure of heart may find the golden grail," sings Freddie Mercury.)

Boyd hops into the passenger seat, his mouth a tight, faux-cordial grimace. "Why, hello, Edmund. So, I see you've gotten us into a bit of a pickle again. Did you know the feds are on their way, and they're going to lock Kepler down tomorrow? Nobody will be allowed in or out. Isn't that interesting?" He taps his fingertips together to the beat of the song.

"The hell do you want?"

"The same thing I wanted over a month ago: I want to go back to England, and it seems there's no more time for dawdling. I need that sculpture tonight."

Ned pulls to the side of the road and parks. "Fuck off."

"Oh, don't be like that, Ned. I have all of your things, remember?" He pulls his messenger bag into his lap. "I even brought you a little peace offering." He tosses something Ned's way.

Ned catches it reflexively, and then stares.

"So? What do you say, _old friend_?" The words are dripping with venom.

Ned pockets the Flamebright Pendant before Boyd can change his mind. "Hawk the Oscar. I don't have time for a heist."

"Very well. I'll leave the storage unit open for you." Boyd hands Ned a slip of paper with an address, and gets out of the truck. "You do understand I may have to take a little more loot to make up the difference. For collateral, since you skimped out on our deal."

"Fine."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Chicane. I pray I never see you again."

"Feeling's mutual."

Boyd Mosche leaves, strolling as if he doesn't have a care in the world. Smug bastard.

The weight in Ned's pocket is warm. The one in his chest is frigid.


	6. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial of the seer.

Indrid gets his first good look at Sylvain in over a hundred years.

It's still beautiful--he's sure it will be, even after every ounce of life has left it--but it's beautiful in the way winter is on Earth in the areas with only deciduous trees.

Indrid hates winter.

"Don't bow! He's a traitor! Get up--get _up_ and seize him!" Woodbridge blusters.

"No need for that, Minister. I'll go quietly. I know we need to have a hearing." Indrid turns towards his new hircine ally, and has to almost get on his hands and knees to be at eye level with him. "There's no need for this, either, you know."

The goat-man just gapes at him, eyes wide.

Indrid's true facial structure isn't made for smiling, but he tilts his head and reaches out a hand. "Come now, you can get up. To be frank, all this formality is rather awkward for me."

He takes Indrid's hand in both of his and lets the moth help him up.

Blessedly, everyone else follows his lead.

"I--Seer Cold, you're. So, uh. You're...here. Talking to me. That's a thing that's happening."

"Please, call me Indrid."

He looks like he's about to faint.

Indrid covers his mouth and chitters softly. "What's your name, friend?"

"Vin...cent?"

"Pleased to meet you, Vincent. I'm sorry it's under such dire circumstances."

Woodbridge moves between them. "Don't think you can butter up the Minister of Defense to get a lighter sentence!"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"And you!" He turns on Vincent. "Get a hold of yourself, man! This is embarrassing! You're a minister, not some--some teenaged fanboy! Act like it!"

Indrid waves at Vincent through Woodbridge's back and surreptitiously walks towards the castle while he can.

The guards let him. Whether it's out of fear or respect, or a mix of the two, he's not sure.

"Indrid," his old mentor says.

"Hello, Janelle. What have I missed?"

She leads him in. "Quite honestly, not much until recently."

"Oh?" Whenever Indrid catches someone's gaze in the entryway, they look away. At least some things never change.

"I take it you've met the new Pine Guard?"

"That I have."

"Keep your eye on Aubrey Little when you go back." She says it with certainty. She knows what's coming just as well as Indrid does. It doesn't take special powers to see this future.

"I will." He stops in the middle of the royal hall. "Shall we make things easier on Woodbridge and put the cuffs on now?"

"Easier on Vincent, you mean? I don't think he could do it."

"Him, too." He kneels in the center of the room, arms at the ready.

Janelle just sighs and uses magic to bring shackles up from the floor. Automatically, they tighten around Indrid's wrists and pull his hands out and down.

"Well, that's uncomfortable."

"Sorry."

"It is what it is, I suppose."

Janelle walks to her pedestal and climbs on. She seems torn, like she's trying to stay professional but her discomfort is showing through. She fiddles with the end of a scarf, instead of looking at Indrid.

Woodbridge bursts through the door. "Janelle! Where did he g--oh. Alright, then." He gives Indrid a wide berth, eyes locked on him, as he moves to his own designated spot. Once he's there, he just seethes at him, as if he could bore a hole through Indrid's head with his eyes.

Vincent's the last to trail in. He comes in backwards, leading in the guards and a crowd of spectators.

" _Good_." Indrid thinks. He was going to ask for this to be a public hearing. He wonders if Vincent knows his history well enough to understand why it's important for people to see this, or if he made the decision on his own. Either way, Indrid's respect for the man grows.

Vincent gives him an apologetic look.

Indrid gives him a thumbs up, though it's so low to the ground he's not sure Vincent sees him do it.

The ministers all get into place, and the audience fills the stands.

"Silence!!!" Woodbridge temporarily solidifies his hand and beats it on his lectern. "Silence for the hearing of Seer Indrid Cold!"

The door at the back of the hall creaks open, and a young girl peeks out. Indrid doesn't know her, but she's the spitting image of Interpreter Priam and he can guess. He wonders what, if anything, she's interpreting, when the true Sylvain has been gone for centuries.

"Hi," she says, looking directly at Indrid.

"Hello," he responds.

She nods at the ministers and leaves. Interesting. Back in Priam's day, the Interpreter would come out into the center of the room and make a speech. People used to come from all over Sylvain to hear him speak, no matter the occasion. He could draw a crowd, whether for a trial or a routine status report. His daughter--granddaughter?--doesn't seem like she received the same training, or perhaps she just doesn't care. Indrid knows what it's like to have a burden like that at such a young age. He couldn't blame her if she needed to detach from it.

"Well, now that our esteemed leader has delivered that absolutely _rousing_ proclamation, we can begin." Woodbridge leans forward over his pedestal. "Since the draining of a shard of the Heart of Sylvain is a threat to the preservation of our fine planet, that puts this issue under my dominion."

"Actually," Janelle pipes in, a finger raised. "Seer Cold, was magic involved in this incident?"

"Yes, it was." He looks at Vincent. "And it happened during an encounter with an abomination, so that also makes this an issue of defense."

Woodbridge is absolutely fuming. Probably for the best.

"What happened?" Vincent asks, as quietly as he did at the gate. It still echoes through the massive hall like a shot going off.

Indrid takes a deep breath. He's never liked being the bearer of bad news, but it's all he's ever been able to do to help. "The abominations are getting smarter. Up until recently, I haven't had to get involved. That changed two months ago. I am now fully convinced they intend to incite war against Sylvain." He waits for the frightened murmurs of the crowd to die down. "Time is of the essence, so I will skip to the most important point: The people of Kepler, West Virginia now know without a shadow of a doubt that there are things in their world beyond their comprehension. They know those things can be dangerous, and they are afraid. I'm unsure for how long the gate will remain a secret, but if and when it's revealed, you need to be prepared to protect our home."

"You're unsure?!" hisses Woodbridge.

"This most recent abomination," he continues, ignoring the question for now, "was a shapeshifter. A mimic. It took sylph shapes and slaughtered innocent citizens in a grisly fashion. As its most heinous act, it led the Pine Guard into the busiest part of downtown Kepler, just as the dinner rush was ending."

Vincent is hanging on his every word, a deep furrow in his brows. "It was active during the day?"

Indrid nods. "My visions showed me that there was a key moment in the fray: If a certain person was killed, the monster would then flee into a rift, and bide its time until the week was through. It would allow the havoc it'd already wrought to take its toll on Kepler, then spread its malice far beyond her borders."

Janelle has her knuckles against her lips. "And the magic?"

"When I saw that horrible future was going to come to pass, I stepped in to stop it. I sensed the energy signature the abomination was emitting, and knew then that it was using Sylvan magic to change its form. I recognized it like the back of my hand, because it was the exact same spell that's used to create our human disguises."

Woodbridge, for once, has nothing to say.

"I saw only one way to avoid further casualties." Indrid looks at the floor. "I needed to dispel the force surrounding the creature. Earth has never heeded my call, so I had to use the only power I had available. It took almost everything I had, and yet the monster was still clinging to a thread of life. One of the Pine Guard had to dispatch it once it was suitably weakened."

"What do we do?" Vincent seems scared and small. Overwhelmed, and looking to Indrid for answers. It's obvious in that moment how young he really is.

"I don't know." He meets his gaze. "I haven't been able to see the futures since then."

There are gasps and then a quickly rising cacophony of voices, but a hush falls over the hall when Janelle raises a hand. "Let him speak."

"I am no use to Sylvain like this, and my body requires too much energy for me to stay here. I know that I would need to leave, even if the results of my actions couldn't be considered high treason. I won't fight my sentence."

Woodbridge has none of his usual fire when he nods and proclaims, simply, "Indrid Cold, you are hereby permanently stripped of your title of Court Seer, and exiled to Earth from the land of Sylvain."

Vincent steps down from his pedestal and pulls out a rod that he taps against one of Indrid's shackles. All four manacles fall and recede back into the floor. "I'll escort him to the gate."

"Very well," says Woodbridge, monotone.

Indrid rubs his wrists and stands. He nods to Janelle and leaves the castle.

\--------

"I'm sorry our first meeting had to be cut so short, Vincent. I hope you don't get in trouble for helping me earlier."

Vincent isn't looking at him. "I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"Why does Woodbridge hate you so much? I've never been able to get a straight answer out of him."

Indrid sets both left hands on his shoulder. "You have to understand something: People do not take kindly to hearing that misfortune is on its way, no matter the world. I had to prioritize the futures based on their urgency, and so I rarely got to share good news. I wasn't friendly with many people during my time here." Would Vincent feel the same about him, if he'd met him while he still had his powers?

"That wasn't your fault, though."

"No, but it was my choice to tell Woodbridge how he was going to die."

Vincent tries to look into his large compound eyes, but can't seem to decide which part to focus on. He sighs, shoulders slumping. "Fuck."

Indrid takes a moment to decide what the best course of action would be. He settles on holding his arms open and accepting Vincent into them, wrapping the shaking goat-man up in his wings, as well. "I'm glad I got to meet you. It seems like you've been waiting far too long to meet me."

Vincent groans, face buried in Indrid's already partly regrown fluff.

The ex-seer chuckles. "I'm sorry I can't offer more to ease the burden I've just placed on you."

"Just. I-Indrid? Don't die out there, okay?"

"No guarantees, but I'll try my best." He lets Vincent go. "I do hope you'll attempt the same?"

He nods.

"If I manage to find anything useful, I'll send it back with the Pine Guard." He starts to turn, and stops, hands clapped together in glee. "Oh! Have you ever tried eggnog?"

"Say again?"

"Eggnog. It's a positively delightful human-made beverage. You must try it."

Vincent laughs, disbelieving. "I'm more of a media guy."

"Well, then perhaps I'll manage to find you something that you haven't seen. But you're getting some nog, regardless."

"Is that a promise?"

"I suppose it has to be, hm? I promise."

Vincent shifts restlessly, then sighs and opens the gate.

Indrid hesitates, too. It's nice to have a fan, for once. It's thoughts of the situation in Kepler, and of the Pine Guard, that mobilize him to turn and step into the light.

He doesn't say goodbye. He hopes that, somehow, he'll see Vincent and his old home again some day.

\--------

On the other side of the gate, Indrid leans against the stone and waits for his heartbeat to slow. He could fly away, find someplace else with a hot spring, but even as he thinks that he knows it's not really a possibility.

For once, Indrid Cold doesn't want to run.

He feels frightened, and useless, and his mind is a tangle of regrets and sorrow, but he wants to stay here. He wants to stay here, and he wants to help his--

His friends.

He wants to help his friends.

For once, he's more worried for them than he is about himself.

He still lingers in the forest for a while, even though he's shivering from both the February chill and his own nerves, but eventually he stands in the clearing near the gate and spreads his wings. Then he takes off into the sky, staying low and far away from town, but nonetheless headed towards Amnesty Lodge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of taking Indrid's powers away came for two reasons: The first is that if this were the podcast, it would allow him to be present without being too OP. The second will be revealed in later chapters (Hint: It has to do with Duck).


	7. Apprehension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting at Amnesty Lodge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I am so thrilled to be getting to the next batch of chapters. We're about to have everyone together again, and then things can really kick off. Next up is Dani.
> 
> (Also note that I did another major chapter edit on Ch. 6. It's not quite as important to read the new version as it was for Chs. 3 and 4, but if you caught the version of 6 that ended right when Indrid left Sylvain, the new one contains some extra content. I'm forcing myself to slow down, and to step away from chapters for a few hours before posting from here on out, to try and avoid another issue like this. Sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused.)
> 
> I hope you're all having a wonderful day!

Barclay is loading the dishwasher when he hears Jake's and Mama's hushed voices outside. He pauses and tries to listen, but only susses out that Jake is upset.

He peeks out over the serving counter. Jake's back is to him, and Mama gives a small nod and returns to her conversation. Then she notices something out the front window of the lodge, pats Jake's shoulder, and books it outside. Oh, boy.

Barclay dries his hands and heads out into the lobby. "Hey. You okay?"

Jake shakes his head. "No, man. It's nuts out there. I was just out trying to take advantage of some fresh corduroy, yeah? But there was, like, screaming and stuff. I think something bad went down with the bom-bom."

Barclay doesn't know any corduroy that isn't on pants, but his hand tightens around the dish rag at the rest of it. "Shit."

"Yeah, it's grody to the max."

Barclay peeks out just as the Cryptonomica truck is heading out. "Should I get tea ready?" he asks Mama.

"Make it whiskey," she grumbles, and heads into the cellar.

He should probably hurry, but Barclay finds himself making tea anyway. He spends too long rubbing a spot off a glass and mulling between two whiskey brands. He didn't like the look in Jake's eyes, and the one in Mama's was worse.

When he finally gets up the nerve to head to the meeting, he pauses partway down to listen in on the conversation. A voice he doesn't know is saying, "What was that thing? Because I've lost five Hornets in the past week, and I just watched a--some kind of Mothman battle?"

Mama just deadpans, "Mothman."

"Yeah," says Aubrey. "Indrid came in, in full sylph form, and helped us win."

Barclay realizes he's let go of the tray a second too late. "Shit!" His hands swipe empty air, and the whole collection of tea cups and tumblers explodes into wet shards, and cascades down the stairs.

Aubrey shouts in surprise.

"Aw, beans, goddamnit, that was my best teapot...." He steps around the mess as best he can, porcelain crunching under his hiking boot. "Aubrey, did you just say Indrid?"

"Y-yes?"

"And this wouldn't happen to be Indrid Cold, would it?"

"Uh, yeah?" She's doing a great impression of a deer in headlights.

Mama's walked past and is digging through the mess. She picks up the broken neck of the whiskey bottle and growls.

"Sorry, Mama. I'll clean that up in a minute and, uh. More whiskey."

"Forget it." She drops the glass back on the floor. "Aubrey, when the hell were you plannin' to tell us y'all had met another sylph?"

"You didn't ask! He called while you were standing _right next to me_!"

"And what the fuck's a sylph?" cuts in a guy sitting by Aubrey on the couch. Barclay knows his face and the Hornets uniform, both from the encounter in front of Amnesty Lodge and from pictures Jake's shown him.

"Uhhhh," Aubrey responds sheepishly.

"Listen," says the other Hornet, with the yellow jacket. "Don't try to hide anything from us. I'm sick of it. We deserve to know the truth. Whatever it is you're trying to keep secret or protect, I don't care. We just want to stop anyone else from getting killed, okay? I just saw the Mothman save one of my best friends; I'm willing to buy anything right now." They lean back against the cushions, legs crossed at the knee.

"Aw, thanks Hollis..." says the first guy.

Barclay sits in one of the chairs. "Okay, we should settle down, maybe, and get things straightened out?"

Mama sighs and sits back down, as well. "Okay, first off, you two need to understand that we're keeping this shit secret for good reason."

"What good reason could you have, to let monsters run around and kill people without giving anyone the power to protect themselves?" Hollis points an accusing finger, head tilted cockily.

"We've been _trying_ ," Mama leans forward, her face pure stone, "to keep there from bein' the exact kind of mass hysteria that's goin' on right now. One wrong move, and a whole bunch more good people are gonna die."

They cross their arms. "Fine. What can we do?"

Barclay raises a hand to pause that train of thought. "Before we answer that, I need to ask: Aubrey, how do you know Indrid?"

"He warned us about the tree bom-bom's attacks." She scoots to the edge of the seat and asks, "How do _you_ know Indrid???"

He looks at Hollis and the other Hornet. "I can't stress how important it is that you two keep this secret. Even if word is already getting out about some things, we still need to keep other stuff out of the public eye. Okay?"

"Fine. Keith?"

"Yeah." Keith looks off towards the wall. "I kinda owe a cryptid my life or something? So, whatever you need, I'm in."

"Me and Indrid came over to Earth together. I've known him for, what? Somewhere 'round 150 years now? Lost track of him after the whole Silver Bridge thing. Wasn't even sure he was still alive." Part of him can still barely believe it. Barclay's stomach is doing flips as he pulls out his crystal shard. "He have one of these?"

"Yeah! He's always wearing it, even when he gets all big and moth-y."

Barclay lets that sink in: Indrid's really alive, and he is or was in Kepler. "People saw him?"

Aubrey nods. "He did something to the bom-bom, then flew off. It was pretty badass, but I really wish he'd stayed."

It sinks in, then, just how bad things are. If this was dire enough for Indrid goddamned Cold to come out of hiding and publicly expose himself, they're in a heap of trouble. He looks at Keith and Hollis again. "Yeah, sounds like we can use all the help we can get. Welcome to the Pine Guard. We have a lot to talk about."

\--------

It's a couple hours later. They've filled the Hornets in, and the two are sitting in the lobby talking to Jake. Duck and Ned showed up with their bags and Duck's cat. Aubrey apparently wants to introduce the cat to Dr. Harris Bonkers. Duck doesn't seem thrilled.

"So, that news from Ned," Barclay says to Mama. "That's not good."

"No shit. I knew having that Agent Stern guy here was going to bite us in the ass eventually."

"In hindsight, I shoulda just told him we didn't have any rooms free."

"Ya' think?"

Barclay sighs. "Well, it's true now, at least. Unless someone doubles up, we're all booked." He looks out over the lodge, and something protective and fierce rears its ugly head. "You think we're gonna make it through this?"

"Wish I could say I was feeling optimistic about our chances." She's finally got her whiskey, and she sips it and regards the hot springs outside the window.

"Me too." At least they've discovered new allies. Barclay just hopes they aren't about to make even more enemies.


	8. Camaraderie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang's all here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy little interlude, before the shit hits the fan.
> 
> I had a lot of fun with this one, and it was one of my favorite chapters to write. It's also the longest thus far. (I've been waiting to write the intro to this one since four chapters back!) Dani was a surprisingly easy POV to get into, and I hope I did her justice! I also hope you enjoy reading as much as I did creating it! Have fun, and take care!

She didn't intend to fall asleep, but with the scent of Aubrey Little all around her and the snuggly warmth of a rabbit, it was so easy to drift. Good thing Aubrey didn't usually seem to mind when she'd come in to find Dani dozing in her bed.

It isn't Aubrey waking her tonight.

Dani groans and rubs the sleep from her eyes. She'd been having such a nice dream, too. She and Aubrey, Barclay, Jake, and Moira were taking a road trip, headed to some music festival or other. Moira was going to play, and--

Oh, right. Something's tapping on the window.

Dani opens the curtains and is greeted by a pair of glowing red eyes. She squeaks and almost backs right off the bed.

The interloper makes a startled sound, too, and disappears.

Cautiously, Dani peeks back over the sill, then cracks the window and sticks her head out. Beneath her, she finds a giant moth flailing wings-down in the snow. "Oh my god!" She throws the window open as far as it'll go and leans her whole torso out to help.

The moth sylph clings to the window frame and shakes the snow off in a wave that moves from his head to wingtips, then climbs in. He shuts everything behind him and rubs his arms, shivering. "Thank you. Sorry to startle you. I was expecting Aubrey." He looks her over, hands wringing together with a quiet scraping sound. "You must be Dani. And this must be Dr. Harris Bonkers." He reaches carefully towards the rabbit, letting himself be sniffed.

Dani stares. "You're Indrid Cold."

"Uhm, yes. Did Aubrey tell you, because if not that might be a little awkward...."

"Yeah, she told me. Plus, you called for Duck that one time." Dani finally settles back down. "Aub's been waiting to give you your glasses back for ages."

"Oh! Are they in the room? I imagine it might be...less unsettling for you if I were in my disguise."

Dani chuckles. "Sorry, no. Aubrey's been keeping them on her, in case she runs into you. But it's okay; I like bugs." What she just said clicks as soon as it's out of her mouth, and she cringes, hands snapped over her lips. "Oh, oh jeez. I hope that wasn't offensive. I should know better."

Indrid just stares at her for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "No, it's perfect. Thank you."

A feeling of easy comfort washes over Dani. She smiles. "You know, growing up I always heard you were supposed to be scary."

"I'm relieved to find you don't think so. That's two in one night, which I think might be a new record." He taps a finger at the base of one mandible. "Well, I suppose the Pine Guard didn't find me scary in my human disguise, so much as odd. And I'm not sure if their reaction to my sylph form was actually fear, or if they just found me unpleasant to look at."

Though Indrid's tone is cheerful, the actual sentiment settles like rocks in Dani's gut. "Aubrey told me you live in the Eastwoods Campground?"

"I did. Why do you ask?"

"Why didn't you come here? I'm sure Mama would have welcomed you with open arms."

Indrid leans on one elbow, then stacks his other arm on top, leaning his head against the top palm. That's convenient. "Yes, she probably would have, but I'm quite attached to my RV and the mobility it provides. Although that's a moot point now, I suppose. I'm sure it's been towed sometime in the past few days, and it'd need repairs besides." He reaches up another hand and absently fiddles with the pendant hanging over his thorax.

It's not Dani's place to ask. "It sounds like you've had a rough time. Do you want to rest here while I go see if I can find Aubrey?"

"If it's not too much trouble, I would appreciate that." His last hand scratches between Dr. Harris Bonkers' ears.

Dani nods and gets up. She's careful not to open the door too far as she slips out. The atmosphere gets increasingly more tense as she gets closer to the lobby, and she arrives to find the entire Pine Guard, and not just Aubrey. Jake is in one corner with his old Stunt Club friends. She'll have to ask about all of that soon.

Aubrey sees her and waves excitedly, though she looks haggard.

Dani scoots up close and whispers in her ear, "Your friend Indrid came to your room looking for you."

Aubrey gasps and then absolutely squees, bouncing in place. "Is he still there?"

Duck and Ned stop in whatever they're bickering about and look over.

She mouths, "Indrid!" and makes flapping motions by her shoulders.

Ned's jaw drops. "No way."

"Oh, shit. Where?" asks Duck.

"My room?"

Dani nods.

"My room!" She's already off like a shot.

Dani watches her go fondly. "Guess you two should put your stuff up? And your cat. I think Dr. Harris Bonkers may be a little too big for a kitty that size to be comfortable around."

" _Thank_ you! That's what I said!" Duck goes searching his pockets, then pulls out the room key from the one on his chest. "Guess we'll see you in Aubrey's?"

Ned shoulders his duffel bag. "Be there in a few."

Back in the room, Indrid takes his glasses from Aubrey's hands and puts them on. The man he becomes is more surprising than his sylph form, by far. The wiry limbs that looked natural on a moth just look sickly on a person. It's gotta be rough to be suddenly lacking so many appendages, and to adjust from compound eyes to singular. But his mouth curls into a tired little smile, and he just looks so relieved that Dani can't fret too much.

"Thank you, Aubrey." He stretches, and moves his neck around. "I must say, I'm relieved you gave my spares to your feline friend, and not these. The others weren't enchanted, and I'm a little low on magic juice at the moment." At "magic juice", he wiggles his fingers in Aubrey's direction.

"Aw, could you have gotten someone else to make you a charm?"

"Yes, but I would have looked different, and I've grown to like this form over the years."

Dani sits next to him and pulls Dr. Harris Bonkers into her lap. She spends some time just studying him as he settles with a bone-weary sigh. If she pays attention, she can see the ways his human self echoes his true one. It's always fascinating to her, to see the disguises the Earth-based sylphs choose, when they pick for themselves, especially the ones who look as inhuman as Indrid does. They always tend to come out a little unusual, like they don't quite fit into their own skin, and it makes them rather striking. Dani thinks, after some consideration, that she likes his form, too.

"Actually," he mutters. "Hm." He picks up the pendant, and rolls it around in his fingers.

"Indrid!" Aubrey cries out. "What happened to your crystal?"

"It's drained. I used its power up, helping you fight the 'bom-bom'."

Dani stares. Oh, god. She didn't even recognize what it was. That's something else to unpack later.

There's a knock at the door. Duck peeks in, then slips into the room, followed by Ned. "Hey, Indrid."

"Hello, Duck. Ned."

"You know," Ned says, "I was really expecting you to be gone for good this time."

Aubrey gives him a look.

"Okay, yeah, I lied to you. Sorry. You were upset, and I was wrong anyway."

Indrid pulls the long chain over his head and holds the pendant in his hand. "I think I do have the energy for one thing. Do you four mind if I take my disguise off? It'll only be for a moment."

Everyone agrees, though Ned averts his eyes.

Indrid removes his glasses and sets both them and the necklace on the bed before him. "I'm really not sure this will take, but I'll probably be less conspicuous if it works." He holds a hand over each item. There's a soft glow that only lasts a moment, before it fades. "Alright then, let's see how this goes." He picks the chain up and loops it over his head, careful of his antennae. When it hits the back of his neck, the pendant keeps falling as his form shrinks, until it's hanging close to the bottom of his sternum instead of up near his shoulders. He looks up and smiles. "So, how do I look?"

He has pretty eyes, Dani thinks. They're almond-shaped and a deep, ruddy brown. She wants to draw him.

"Whoa," Duck says, leaning in to get a closer look at Indrid's face. "I kinda wasn't expecting 'em to look so...normal?"

"Well, it was never my eyes themselves I was concealing, but that's a topic for another time." He turns the glasses over in his hands, then passes them to Aubrey. "A souvenir? I know you don't need them anymore, but it seems appropriate, somehow, to give them to you."

"Aw, hell yeah. I'll keep them safe for you."

"You've sure done an admirable job up until now. I trust that won't change."

She grins.

"And Duck?" He looks to the ranger, seeming uncertain. "I hate to impose at such a late hour, but would you be willing to help me with something? It's important, and I don't want to leave it any longer than I have to."

Duck looks around like he's expecting Indrid to be talking to someone else, then points at his chest. "Me? Why do you need me?"

"I need to cover up my tracks, after my unfortunate escape earlier. I can't think of a better person to assist with that."

Aubrey sits next to Dani and leans against her shoulder as she pets her rabbit. "Do you want us to come?"

Indrid responds before Ned can butt in. "No, I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be a long day. The more of us who can get a good night's sleep, the better."

Ned does ask, "Where are you going to stay when you get back? Barclay said me and Duck got the last rooms. Or are you going back to your 'bago?"

"He can take my room tonight!" Dani says before she can think better of it. Her face goes hot. "I mean. Uhm. I keep falling asleep in here anyway, when I come in to feed Dr. Harris Bonkers, and..."

"Yessss. Sleepover!" Aubrey pumps her fist into the air.

Dani smiles at that, and the heat in her cheeks spreads out through her whole body, leaving her warm and tingly. She fishes her lanyard out of her cardigan and hands her room key to Indrid. "Room 23."

He takes it gingerly, and slips it into the change pocket of his jeans. "Thank you for trusting me with your space, Dani. That's very kind of you."

She's not sure if he didn't pick up on her main reason, or if he's just too polite to point it out, but she's grateful nonetheless.

They say their goodnights. Dani goes with Indrid to her bedroom so she can pick up a change of clothes and her bathroom things.

"Oh, you draw?" His smile widens as he takes in the charcoal sketches taped all over her walls, of her friends and the nature around Amnesty Lodge. "These are lovely."

"Yeah, I picked it up after I got ex--uh."

"Ah." He just nods. "Well, we're in the same boat, now. Drawing has always been something I've done for purely practical reasons, but that option really isn't on the table anymore. Perhaps I should flex my creative muscles, see if I can actually produce anything worthwhile without my usual advantage...."

He seems like he's mostly musing to himself and Dani doesn't fully understand what he means, but her heart aches for him anyway. It seems like an impossible thing, for Indrid Cold to become an exile, but she still feels the pain of losing her home as if it happened yesterday and she wouldn't wish it upon anyone. She goes over to a bookshelf and looks through her sketchbooks. She finds one that's nearly empty, and pulls out the couple used pages and stuffs them back between the other books. "What medium do you prefer?"

"I do pencil, normally. Ballpoint pen if that's not available."

She finds a couple HBs and an eraser in her desk, and grabs her colored pencils, too, just because. She never managed to get the hang of them. She holds them out to him and beams.

He looks between them and Dani's face, as if he isn't comprehending.

"For you. So you can draw."

He clasps his hands over his heart. "Oh, I couldn't...."

"Please. I want you to have them."

The corners of his lips are tensing in little stilted movements and his eyes are going wet at the edges. He mouths more than vocalizes, "Thank you."

Dani beams at him. "We should draw each other, when things settle down."

"I'd like that." He takes the gifts with such gentleness that he looks like he expects them to crumble in his hands and then turns away, head bowed.

"I'll leave you to settle in. Bathroom's through that door. The water takes a while to heat up, but when it does it gets scalding fast. Be careful."

He nods, still facing the other direction. "I will. Goodnight, Dani. Thank you again."

"You're welcome, Indrid. Good night." She gathers her things and heads back to Aubrey's room with a spring in her step.

"You look happy."

"I like Indrid. He's nice." She sets her stuff on the table for now and cozies up at Aubrey's side.

"Yeah, he's cool. Kind of eccentric, but I can't really talk."

She laughs. "No, definitely not. Is the good Doctor not joining us tonight?"

Aubrey huffs. "He apparently wanted to sleep in his own bed. Party pooper."

"To be fair, it's a pretty awesome bed. Can't believe Mama built him one."

"Yeah." Aubrey smiles, fond and sleepy. She yawns, then looks sheepish when it catches. "That was when I knew for sure I was welcome here." She presses a kiss to Dani's lips.

"I'm glad you decided to stay." Dani doesn't know what tomorrow will bring, but for now she can't bring herself to care. She settles down for the night in a warm bed with a warmer love, knowing her friends--both old and new--are all around her. For the first time in a long time, she feels at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Duck and Indrid in the woods.


	9. Abandonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An overdue conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I was wrong about this one. I thought it was going to be about Duck and Indrid in the forest, but Barclay had Words he needed to say.

Barclay is one of two people still awake, it seems. He catches Duck's eye and raises a hand in greeting, curious as to why he looks ready to go out at this hour.

He waves back and comes over. "Hey. Why're you still up?"

"Can't sleep. Where are you headed?"

Duck gives a nervous chuckle. "Uh, just, I guess, going to help a friend with something? It's, er. Forestry-related, apparently."

Just on cue, the very reason for Barclay's restless night steps into the room. His hair's gone greyer, and he's somehow even thinner--and taller?--than Barclay remembers, but there's no mistaking him.

Duck turns to him. "Oh, damn. Guess you don't have any winter wear, do you?"

Indrid is looking right at Barclay. He covers the pendant on his chest, then slips it into his shirt. "No. I'm going to need to borrow something."

Barclay has no words.

"Shit. I'd have stuff for you if we were at my place, but I didn't think I'd need to bring spares."

"That's quite alright. Hello, Barclay."

"Huh?" Duck looks back again and sees the expression Barclay must be wearing, because his face falls. "Shit, you, uh--don't tell me you two know each other?" He cringes. "I mean, of course you do. He just said your name, and...." At the glare he's getting, Duck snaps his jaw shut.

What Barclay finally manages to get out is, "It's been over fifty years." Without thinking, he pushes Duck aside. "We all thought you'd been captured. Or worse."

Indrid stands straighter. "Where are the others?"

"They went home."

"Why didn't you?"

Barclay can feel his jaw tensing. "Because we had a mission, _Seer Cold_."

Duck looks like he's about to shit himself. "I'm gonna just...go now."

Indrid looks over and has the gall to smile as if nothing were wrong. "No, Duck, there's no need for that. We need to go cover those tracks, and we don't have time to--"

"Don't have _time_?!" It's the angriest Barclay's been in years--since the day in 2001 when he heard about the Mothman sightings in New York, in fact.

Duck backs up a couple steps. He looks genuinely afraid.

Barclay is too angry to remedy it. "Don't you dare fucking talk to me about time, Indrid Cold." He stomps forward, finger against the taller man's chest. He looks at Duck. "Git. The two of us need to have a talk, and frankly it's none of your business."

Duck gits.

Indrid sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. His expression has gone utterly blank. "Alright, then. Have at it."

"You abandoned us! We were all looking up to you to lead us, and you just--" He throws his arms up and paces. "You know, I wondered, sometimes, if you cared so much about humanity that you forgot we were here to find Sylvain."

"I never forgot."

"Then what happened?"

The poker face falters, just barely. "Every day, I saw their futures, both the good and the bad. We never saw a sign of Sylvain--we didn't even know for sure that she was out here--but the humans were all around us." He looks directly into Barclay's eyes. "I thought that I could help them. At least then I'd be accomplishing something worthwhile."

He wants to hold onto it, but the anger dissipates, fire doused with ice water. "What about us? We were counting on you. You were the one keeping our faith going. You were the one, when all of us were ready to throw in the towel, who always said that if we just kept trying we'd find her someday." He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. "Were you lying to us?"

"It's not so black and white as that." Indrid sets a hand on Barclay's shoulder as he passes him to slouch into a chair. "I do still hold hope that Sylvain is on Earth somewhere. I won't believe she's dead, as some do."

Barclay sits down across from him, and pours them both tea from the pot of chamomile he made for himself. It's the metal kettle this time. He doesn't like the tang it gives the brew, but there's not much he can do about it.

"Thank you, old friend." He stirs more than enough sugar into it and sips thoughtfully. "This is...a much larger world than I realized when we first opted to take on this task. It was easy to get discouraged. Often times, the little pep talks I'd give you all were for myself as much as they were for you."

Barclay takes a deep breath. It shudders on the exhale. "Are you still looking?"

"Yes."

"Why did you run? You didn't have to do this alone. Without you, the others--" He has to put his cup down and wait for his hands to steady. " _I_ was alone. I was the only one who still believed in what we came here to do, and I had nobody until I met Mama." He puts his face in one hand. "You were out there, all that time, and I was alone."

Indrid stares into his cup, as if trying to read a fortune in leaves that aren't there. "I was almost captured, in Point Pleasant. Had I lacked my powers, I would have been." He downs the rest of his drink in one gulp. "Barclay, 46 people died because I failed to save them. I didn't want the same to happen to you and the others. I feared my presence was putting you in danger, so I...removed myself from your lives. If I'm honest, I counted on all of you giving up. I dragged you into this, when it should have been my burden to bear."

The anger sparks again. "That wasn't your choice to make. We were here to save our _home_ , Indrid."

Suddenly, Indrid is yelling, "I knew Sylvain was going to be attacked! I saw it! You didn't! Nobody else did, except for me!" He pants, forcing his voice down. "I knew what needed to be done to save our world. When the ministers weren't listening, I didn't do enough to fight them." He sets the teacup down, a little too hard. "Just like I didn't do enough at Silver Bridge. Just like I've never done enough in my whole wretched life." He stands. "I've always been a coward, Barclay, and you were a fool to ever expect me to be anything else." He moves to leave, but freezes and stares.

Barclay follows his eyeline.

Agent Stern is standing just inside the front door of Amnesty Lodge.

Indrid gulps. "Hello again, Rodney."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Stern's POV. Duck will be back in two, for Ch. 11. If I keep to my one chapter a day schedule, that'll also be the day the next Amnesty drops. Whoooo. We'll see how _that_ goes when we get there. I'm going to try not to let it affect this story too much, no matter where the McElboys go with the real thing. I am reasonably sure that, even though the events will probably be different, that I have a good enough grasp on what's happening in canon that there shouldn't be any major contradictions in the core plot, so...*shrugs*. We shall see.


	10. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rock and a hard place.

When Agent Stern finds the edge of the forest nearest town, he's significantly more unsettled and far more covered in nature than anticipated. He shakes a spider off his sleeve and brushes pine needles from his hair. He hopes he looks more professional than he feels.

"Who goes there?" Someone shines a flashlight in his face.

The light sends a spike of panic through him. _Turn your back, leave, and never_ \--

The officer moves her light to Stern's chest as she comes closer. "We're in a state of emergency, sir. I'm going to need you to explain what you're doin' out, then return to your home and lock up until we can confirm it's safe."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, then Stern blinks the fog from his mind and grabs his badge. "Agent Stern, FBI. I'm here investigating what happened earlier."

"Oh, oh thank God." She leads him past some caution tape to the center of Main Street, where the battle took place. "I'm starting to think we're out of our depth here." Her light points into a crater of cracked asphalt. "Do you know what did this? I ain't seen nothin' like it."

He missed the impact, but he saw the creatures in the sky, the explosion of light, their quick descent. He's not sure yet what is and isn't safe to share with the local law enforcement. "I only caught the tail end of the altercation. What do you know?"

"The civilians who were present kept talkin' about the Mothman and Bigfoot, and Bigfeets that turned into Mothmen?" She grimaces and rubs the back of her neck. "I don't know. I've seen some wild stuff in my days here, and most of 'em have been this week, but I've still gotta find it pretty hard to believe that cryptids are what sent five people right on back to Chicago tonight."

Bigfoot? He's going to have to conduct some interviews. "What's your name, officer?"

"Megan." She runs a hand through her hair. "Detective Megan Pearson."

"Well, Detective Megan, in my line of work we're taught to toe the line between skepticism and open-mindedness. Don't just believe what you've been told, but don't discount any possibility. I know that's probably not much solace for now, but keep it in mind for tomorrow morning. My associates from the Unexplained Phenomena division will be here then, and we can meet back up and go over what we have. I'm not really set up to do a full report at the moment."

She just sighs and shakes her head. "Just tell me one thing, Agent Stern."

"Yes?"

"What do you think did this?"

"I don't know, but I have my doubts that it was the Mothman." He doesn't know for sure, of course, and he's fully aware that she's going to hear something different than what he means, but at least maybe it'll make her feel a little better and keep her from looking too deeply into things she shouldn't.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Agent."

"Good night, Detective. Try to get some rest. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

She nods and goes back to combing the scene, as if it'll reveal its secrets if she stares at it long enough.

Stern gets that. He really wishes sometimes that it worked that way.

Rather than starting his car, he finds himself just staring out the windshield. Then, he devolves into a shivering mess, head against the steering wheel. He thinks for a moment that Faulkner would be laughing if she saw him like this, before he remembers that even she had nightmares after seeing the Mothman.

Oh, who is he kidding? She'd laugh anyway. She'd laugh harder, if she thought it'd make her look better.

\--------

Detective Megan isn't the only officer he encounters on the way back to Amnesty Lodge. Kepler's a ghost town tonight, save for what seems to be every member of the force. They're everywhere, slow-moving sentinels in the silence. It's eerie, and he just wants to get back and warm up in the room that's started to feel like his second home.

It's times like these that he wishes the FBI used marked vehicles. Maybe then he wouldn't be getting stopped every other block.

He's exhausted when he finally pulls in. He's looking forward to the quiet comfort he's come to expect from the lodge. If he were a luckier man, perhaps he may have found it.

Instead, he hears a voice tinged with feral mania, which quickly quiets into a hushed desperation. Even if the memory of it wasn't still fresh in his mind, it's a sound he thinks he'll remember for the rest of his days. The words hit some self-preserving block in his head and fail to process. All Stern can understand is that the voice is talking to Barclay.

Barclay, who's been preparing Stern's meals for the better part of a year. Barclay, who he had started to trust....

Then the Mothman--no, just a man, but how could that voice belong to anyone else?--stands and stares at him. Just as he did in the forest, he uses Stern's given name when he greets him.

Stern's only ever flashed that name briefly on his ID. Excepting the time Aubrey Little insisted on examining it for verification, he usually moves it just a little too quickly for most people to read. He's definitely never shown it to this man. He's never met this man before in his life.

The man, tall and gaunt and a mess of contradictions that gives Stern the same feeling as those hyper-realistic Japanese androids he read about on Live Science, saunters over and quirks his head at him.

Stern stands his ground. "Who are you?"

He smiles, a frigid unnatural thing that doesn't reach his eyes. "You already know the answer to that, don't you?"

"Fucking hell," says Barclay in the background.

"So you lived."

"Yes, and that shouldn't change any time soon," he leans in, just shy of close enough to seem intentionally threatening, "unless you decide to speak about things you shouldn't, that is."

Stern looks past him. He knows Barclay, or he thought he did. "What's going on?"

Barclay doesn't answer; just rubs his face with both hands.

"Come now," says the non-moth-man. "I think we should all have a little chat, don't you?" He places a hand between Stern's shoulderblades and guides him to the chairs. There's strength to the touch, as cordial as it seems on the surface, like a metal rod on his back instead of a person's palm.

Stern sits.

Barclay peeks at him through his fingers. "Aw, nuts. We're really doing this then?"

The tall man sits, as well. "Chamomile tea? Assuming that's alright with Barclay here, that is."

The cook grunts. "Yeah, whatever. Give the guy some tea. Maybe I should just make a new pot."

"I'm fine," Stern says a little too fast. He doesn't want to be left alone with this stranger.

"Very well." Said stranger pours himself a half cup, and promptly over-sweetens it. "I take it you have some questions, Agent. Now would be your best opportunity to ask them."

"Did you kill those people?"

"No. Do you believe me?"

Stern takes a moment to consider him. He seems tense, perhaps a little skittish, but he's not avoiding direct eye contact. He's still smiling, but it seems forced. Too symmetrical. Too many teeth. "Why were you there?"

"I'm sure it's useless to dance around it at this point. I'm the Mothman. You are aware of at least the basics of my history, yes?"

Stern nods.

"Then you know that I am usually sighted around disasters. This was a disaster." He sips his tea. "I was gifted with the power of premonition, Agent. I knew the battle would take place, and I arrived to lend my assistance against the threat."

"Which side was the threat?" He needs to cover all his angles.

The Mothman chuckles, a little sadly. "The abomination. The shapeshifting monster that did the killing."

Some vague recognition settles in Stern's mind, a jumbled echo of the words he overheard. Somehow, he gets the feeling that what the Mothman is saying now and what he said before match up. He inhales, lets it out in a huff. "Okay. I think I believe you."

Barclay lets out a breath Stern hadn't even noticed he was holding.

Stern continues. "How do you know him, Barclay?"

"We're, um. He's..."

"Let's just say we're old co-workers," the Mothman answers for him.

Barclay nods.

"What was your work?" Stern asks.

"How much did you overhear, Rodney?"

He really has to think about it, combing over his memory. Slowly, bits of it start to filter through, an image through frosted glass. "Uhm. You saw...something. You wanted to save your world, but there was too much red tape..."

"Mh," the Mothman nods. "So you've gathered that I am not from Earth, which if you knew my true name is something I revealed long ago, in the naivety of my younger days."

"What's your name?"

"Indrid Cold."

He recognizes it, from Faulkner's rants that he tried to tune out: The Grinning Man. An alien? "Okay, yeah."

"Now, keep in mind that not everything that Mr. Derenberger reported about me was true. He got the name of my world very wrong, for instance, and like many others he believed erroneously that I could read minds. However, it is true that I am from somewhere else, and that I wish your people happiness." He leans against the arm of the chair. "People from your world came to mine and stole something precious. I came here to get it back, and despite our troubled history grew very fond of Earth and its residents." The longer he speaks without incident, the more the tension in his voice starts to fade. By the end he sounds utterly sincere, almost friendly.

Stern shifts in his seat to address their other companion. There's a hopeful little thread of excitement welling up inside him that he hasn't felt since he first saw the video that brought him to Kepler. "What about you, Barclay?"

"Oh, jeez. How much do you think I should tell him, Indrid? Do you see anything in the futures that'll make this go South?"

"I don't know, but I do know that Agent Stern here spared my life earlier, and seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being." He leans towards Stern, and for the first time addresses him as a person instead of a threat. "I want my friend here and the people of my world to be safe, Rodney. I have never wanted to wish harm upon a human, but the same can't be said for how humans respond to me and mine. We need to know where your loyalties lie. I know enough about your organization to know that they do not take kindly to secrecy within their ranks. I understand this is not an easy decision to make, but if faced with the choice between protecting yourself and your career, or our lives and those of potentially thousands of others, what would you choose?"

Stern looks at Indrid, then at Barclay. "Thousands, you said?"

"Or more. There is no way to put this lightly, Agent: To know of us is to hold the fate of two worlds in your hands. The knowledge you possess could lead to war." Indrid scoots forward and sets a hand on his forearm. It's chill, but the touch is gentle. "Why did you pick this line of work?"

"I, uh." He clears his throat. "I don't want anyone to get hurt. I just want to know the truth." They've shared so much, he thinks. Perhaps he should return the favor. "When I was about 11, my family went on a camping trip. I wandered into the woods, chasing after a deer. I spotted something in the distance that looked like a big, furry man. He looked at me and ran off into the trees. I've been fascinated by Bigfoot stories ever since."

Barclay's voice is barely audible. "Where was that?"

"The Rothrock State Forest. In Pennsylvania."

Barclay sighs, then he laughs. "Well, shit. How long ago? You look mid forties, yeah? So that woulda been right before I got here. Did I come down through Pennsylvania...?"

Stern's jaw drops. "No."

"Yeah...."

"You've been right here, the whole time?"

"Yeeeeah."

"You made me breakfast this morning!"

He shrugs. "It's what I do."

Stern leans his head back and groans, hands in his hair. "Do you know how hard it's been to keep paying for this trip?! I've had to resort to GoFundMe!"

"Oh," Barclay says, just the slightest bit downtrodden. "That's why you only ever seem to eat here. I just thought you really liked my cooking."

Indrid is laughing. The Mothman is laughing at him as he discovers he's been living under the same roof as Bigfoot.

Stern isn't pouting. Federal agents do not pout. He waits for Indrid's mirth to fade down into soft titters. Then, he makes a decision. "Tomorrow morning, an FBI task force is coming to Kepler. They'll be led by a woman named Loryn Faulkner. She's in charge of the Mothman case." He steels himself. "She's a soldier, and she's one of the most sought after interrogators in the FBI. I...."

Barclay and Indrid have both given him their full attention. The latter asks, "Are you afraid of her, Rodney?"

He stares at his knees. "Yes. I don't know if I can keep your secret, if she's the one trying to get it out of me."

"Shit," says Barclay. "Indrid, you have any ideas?"

"I think all we can do is try not to rouse Agent Faulkner's suspicions. The two of you should come up with an alibi. Perhaps you should enlist your friend Mama's help, Barclay. Or maybe Ned's." He stands, setting his empty teacup back on the tray. "I appreciate your honesty, Rodney. This just makes me all the more sure that I need to go with Duck and cover my tracks before your associate arrives. Do either of you happen to have a coat I can borrow? I feel like Barclay's would be more likely to cover my arms."

"Yeah, yeah. I got plenty of coats." He gets up, too. "I'll be right back, er. Are you actually okay with being called Rodney, or is that just Indrid doing his rude future vision thing?"

Indrid rolls his eyes.

Ah, well that explains that. Kind of. "Uh, yeah. I guess it's okay. Just not in front of my co-workers."

"Okay then. Nice to properly meet you then, I guess. I'm gonna go get Indrid dressed so he doesn't freeze to death, and then...wake Ned? I think he'll probably make less of a scene than Mama would."

Stern nods.

Then they're gone, and he's alone in the lobby of Amnesty Lodge. It's almost 2 AM, on the day that he might have to choose between committing a federal crime or causing an interplanetary(?) war.

How has he gotten himself into this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Detective Megan the last name Pearson after Duck's neighbor Mrs. Pearson. Megan is continuing her mom's legacy as a strong woman in the police force.
> 
> While researching this chapter, I realized I'd forgotten about the line in Episode 21 where Trav asked if they'd told Mama and Barclay that they'd met the Mothman, and Griffin said yes. Whoops. So, that aspect of this story is inaccurate, but I didn't really try to make the mimic particularly canon-compliant, either. I just kind of ignored the whole "Ned being teleported somewhere with a virtual reality where apparently Billy IM'd him" and "something is gonna go down at the Green Bank Telescope" things and skipped to the final battle. Plus, you know, I'm writing a story for an ongoing podcast and all. Oh, well.
> 
> Faulkner's first name was originally supposed to be "Loren", not "Loryn". I Googled "Loren Faulkner" to make sure it was a safe name to use, and the [first result](https://www.dropbox.com/s/7f2xuz6ykzkhzj8/Faulkner.PNG?dl=0) was someone whose parent died in the 9/11 attacks. While that was incredibly synchronistic, I figured it might be a little disrespectful to keep the spelling, so I changed it. To make things even weirder, I then looked up "Rodney Stern", and found that the first result was [this LinkedIn profile](https://www.dropbox.com/s/m41swl2c92a9l09/Stern.PNG?dl=0) and I just....WHAT.
> 
> Next up: Duck and Indrid FINALLY go to the woods. Also, wish me good fortune that tomorrow's episode doesn't somehow just derail all my plans.


	11. Empathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleanup and conversation in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one's late. I took a break yesterday to rest (I was soooo loopy), and to listen to and process the new episode. This chapter took almost all of today to write, because it's almost 4k words and I wrote all but the very beginning of it in basically one sitting.
> 
> Song for this chapter is "Heart-Shaped Leaf" by Ursine Vulpine (which can also be found on this fic's [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/morganeashton/playlist/72ZmRIYC3KAQ2k8cdiVrXf?si=FDBvdq6AQfS4G1py65_HKw)). [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptrh3LNj1W0) | [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/2o2iU7gySHWGte9WnWhv4k?si=yNIBTwSYTre7alhc4Eg1Ag)
> 
> Episode 24 isn't going to change much. Some thoughts:  
> \--I'm kind of impressed that I thought to bring Megan back the day before she reappeared in canon. I was kind of expecting her to be a throwaway character who never showed up again in the podcast.  
> \--Well...Dewey was a thing. Not quite sure what I'm gonna do with him yet. I may just stick with my original plans, or I may end up incorporating his new state.  
> \--The canon mimic is obviously a lot more complex in makeup than I made it in this story, but the motivation I gave it (trying to incite war against Sylvain) still seems to check out. (I really think it was frustrated at Hollis and Zeke because they didn't find the gate, and that's why it led Hollis there the first time, too.) Good enough for me, I think. Also, my choice to have both Hollis and Zeke present when the final battle with it took place is seeming extra-plausible, too, so that's cool.  
> \--My read on what's going on with Aubrey still checks out, so no changes there.
> 
> So yeah, just gonna keep going pretty much as planned. Yay!

Duck's cat meows at him when he shuts himself in his temporary room, his back against the door. "Yeah, Maple, I know. Don't gotta tell me twice."

She meows again. Sassy girl.

Duck slides down and scoots to sit on the rug. He pulls Maple into his lap. What a night.

He's almost getting used to abominations, at least as much as it's possible to get used to running up against literal monsters that can kill you on a bi-monthly basis. Not to say he isn't still constantly terrified, or even that he's handling it _well_ , necessarily--okay, he's probably not handling it all that well at all, if he's being totally real--but at least it's starting to become a familiar kind of panic. If Duck Newton is good at one thing (well, besides the preservation of forest and the wildlife within and forgetting about weird shit), it's getting used to being scared all the time. He's had a whole two decades of practice. He's got this. Only minor panic attacks for Duck, or at the very least only minor reactions to major panic attacks.

But interpersonal drama? He's about as good with that as he is with destiny.

His destiny got hit by a meteor. So, like.

Yeah.

At least this isn't something that's gotten worse since he lost his powers. He's never been great with people arguing or being upset, and no amount of magical invulnerability had a lick of impact on that.

He flops back onto the floor. Maple walks up his chest and does that thing she does where she manages to claw both of his nipples as she makes her rotations, then settles with her butt in his face.

He can't even bother to move her tail off his mouth.

When he catches himself starting to drift, he decides he should probably at least move his pity party to the bed.

\--------

Apparently he managed to sleep, because the knock on the door wakes him up. It takes him a while to come to and shuffle over to answer, but he figures if it's Indrid the guy probably already knows how long he's gonna be.

He opens the door to someone's chest, and has to look up to find a face. Yep, definitely Indrid.

"Hello, Duck. I really do hate to impose at such an unreasonable hour, but I still need your assistance." Maple tries to escape past his legs. His reaction seems a little delayed, but he leans down and scoops her up before she can get too far. "Oh, hello, there. I think you need to stay in the room."

Maple hisses at him and tries to scramble out of his arms.

"Thanks. Sorry, I got 'er" Duck reaches up and takes her, then quickly moves her as deep into the room as he can before he gets mauled too badly. He grabs his coat and helmet and closes the door behind him. "She doesn't really like people."

"Except for you?"

"Debatable." Maybe if he talks about his cat, they won't talk about the thing with Barclay. "Found her in the woods durin' work one day. Only half-feral, so someone prob'ly dropped her off. Juno was pissed when she came to the station to find out I'd locked a random cat in there that'd tore up a buncha paperwork."

Indrid chuckles. "Was it worth it to have a new companion?"

He shrugs. "Guess so. She keeps me from sleeping in and havin' to rush to get ready. Purring's nice." 

"Let's go out the back. I made a bit of a mess outside Aubrey's window, so we should take care of that first." He guides Duck away from the lobby.

"Uh, okay. What exactly are we doing, again?"

"In short, we are trying to erase the traces of my sylph form from Kepler." He pulls his borrowed beanie down and tightens his scarf as they exit out the back door. "I was in a bad way after the battle earlier, and I wasn't as discreet as I would have preferred."

"Shit, man. You okay?" Duck looks him over best he can with all the layers. He can't see any sign of limping or wincing. He didn't notice any blood earlier, beyond a couple little scratches....

"I'm better than I was, thank you." Indrid's eyes crinkle slightly. It's still strange to be able to see them at all, but it does make him look more approachable.

Duck decides to take his word for it. "Do you wanna, like, talk about what happened earlier?"

Outside Aubrey's window, Indrid kneels and starts gathering up some flat objects that glimmer in the moonlight. He speaks only loud enough for Duck to hear him. "Well, there are some things I'd prefer to only have to say once. I'd like it if we could all meet tomorrow morning to discuss the current state of affairs. There's quite a lot to cover."

"Yeah, that's fair." Duck kneels next to him and examines the huge patch of disrupted snow and ground. He gets out his flashlight for a better look, careful to point it downwards so it doesn't disturb anyone. The shiny things appear to be thin, soft scales. "Is what happened here one of those things?"

"Erm, no." Indrid hunches into himself a bit. "I'd actually, ah. Prefer if this was kept between you, Dani, and myself. It wasn't one of my proudest moments."

"Y'gonna tell yer buddy Duck what happened, or you too embarrassed?"

He sighs. "Dani startled me and I fell onto my back. I'm sure you've seen enough Earth moths to imagine how well that went for me."

Duck snorts before he can stop it. "Fuck, man, I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh at that."

What he can see of Indrid's face is decidedly unimpressed.

"I mean, it's kind of endearing?" He helps with picking up the scales and doing his best to blend the spot back in with its surroundings. "Honestly, I can't fault you for somethin' like that. I've been feelin' pretty inept lately, so it's kinda nice to think you have your moments, too."

He considers Duck as he stands. "Whyso?"

"I dunno how much you saw with your, like, future vision while you were gone. But everyone else already knows, so I guess you should, too. So I don't compromise our teamwork, or somethin'."

He follows behind Duck, all the way around the building to the ranger's van. "I...tried to ignore any futures involving Kepler and its residents, at least until the visions of this evening's battle. So, I didn't see much at all."

Duck opens the back of the van and finds a trash bag, dumping his scales into it and holding it out for Indrid to do the same. "What are we dealin' with, here? Think we'll need any special tools for this job?"

"I needed to get to the gate earlier, and I wasn't able to keep altitude the whole way there. I apologize in advance for the state of the trees." He cringes. "I had to drag myself the rest of the way, so there's a fairly obvious path leading directly to the clearing. I'm not sure how much of that we can cover up, or if it would be better to attempt to create a diversion."

Duck can feel his jaw go slack. "Shit, Indrid. You sure you're okay?"

"In some ways more than others." The slump of his shoulders makes his fatigue obvious. "We'll need to bring that bag, and some tools to move dirt and perhaps to prune some broken branches?"

He nods and gathers supplies, handing some of them over so he's not carrying them all.

Indrid tucks the shovel and shears under one arm, and stuffs his hands back into his pockets.

"Okay, let's go. It's not too bad a walk from here." As they head out, Duck prepares mentally for what he's going to say. He hopes Indrid doesn't respect him less--or worse, pity him--because he's not special anymore. "So, my Chosen powers came from this, I guess...alien? This alien lady named Minerva. Which isn't too weird for you, probably, since I'm kinda an alien from your perspective, too."

"No, it's not too strange. I've--I hope this isn't too invasive, but I've seen you speaking to Minerva in my visions."

"Oh, hell. Could you actually see her?"

"No, but don't worry; I know better than to assume insanity when I come across things I don't yet understand."

He lets himself be relieved. "Well, she's gone now. I've still got Beacon here," he pats the hilt, grateful that the sword is keeping quiet, "but that's it. No powers or anything, although I did still see a vision before this last abomination, and it sucked as much as it always does. Still don't know what that was about."

"Oh." It's soft, surprised. "I'm sorry, Duck."

He shrugs, stepping into the trees and holding the light so it illuminates Indrid's path and he doesn't trip.

"Thank you." Indrid stops next to Duck and takes a slow, deep breath. "I suppose I can reveal one thing to you a little early."

"What's that?"

He looks almost as awkward as Duck feels. "I think I've lost my abilities, as well."

It feels like the world's dropping out from under him. "What? How does that even-- _what_?"

"I don't know. My best guess is that my connection to Sylvain was weakened enough when I did this," he fishes the inert crystal out of the heavy coat he's wearing, "to have severed whatever was binding me to her power."

"So...you can't see the future?"

He shakes his head.

"Nothing at all?"

"No, Duck. Not since this evening."

It was probably meant to reassure him. After all, now someone else is as mundane as he is, other than the fact that Indrid's still also a giant moth dude. That should make Duck feel better about himself, right?

What it actually does is send a spike of ice-cold terror through him, because having Indrid back is supposed to mean they have the advantage of foresight. Having Indrid back is _supposed_ to mean they can relax, just a little, because he'll warn them if the shit's about to hit the fan. Having Indrid back is supposed to mean they're safer.

"Duck, please slow your breaths. You're going to pass out if you keep hyperventilating."

His eyes are pricking with hot tears. He is most definitely still hyperventilating. "Fuck, shit, what are we gonna do....?"

"Duck." Indrid's voice is distant, and getting farther. He's saying something. What is it? He can't understa-- " _Duck_."

Duck startles at the clatter of tools on the ground, and the long, cold fingers on his cheeks. "I...."

"I know how you feel, Duck. I'm frightened, too. I've never been without my powers before, and it feels as if I'm falling with no safety net. I _know_ , Duck." His hands are shaking almost violently against Duck's skin. "It's alright to be scared, but I need you to come back to me. Breathe in..."

Duck takes a shaky breath in, then releases when Indrid guides him. "We're gonna fuckin' die, man."

"You don't know that. No future is ever certain."

He swallows as Indrid lets him go. "Damnit, I'm sorry. You just...fuck. Opened up and shit for me, and I'm--"

"Don't. Your reaction was perfectly reasonable." He stoops to pick up the tools. "I haven't managed to let myself panic, yet. I've been so concerned with everything that's happened that it still feels surreal."

Duck just focuses on breathing and putting one foot in front of the other. "You're still gonna stay? Even without your powers?"

"Yes. In a way, I don't have much choice. I crashed my Winnebago, and without my crystal I'm dependent on static energy sources like the hot springs to sustain me." He has a much easier time clambering over a fallen tree than Duck does, what with his long legs and all.

He'll have to get that cleaned up ASAP, if he can still go into work after tomorrow. "Still, I feel like you'd have a better chance out there, if the FBI is supposed to put us on lockdown. I wouldn't blame you if you booked it again. Hell, I'm half-considering it, myself."

"I'm tired of running." He steps into the clearing with the gate and just...looks at it, perfectly still. "I went back to Sylvain today, for the first and last time since I left over a century ago. My world is dying, and I'm beginning to feel the toll of my years. If Sylvain--I don't know how strongly our life force is truly tied to hers. The end of our world may be the end of all of us." He shakes himself out of his trance, then moves around the edge of the clearing, and stops in front of a trench. "Duck, I've come so close to dying, so many times over the years. I've seen visions of death and destruction for as long as I can remember. And yet, I've never felt my mortality as acutely as I do right now." He gets to work picking up more scales--so many, too many to count--and pushing dirt back into the furrow.

"Yeah, I know that feeling." He takes the scales Indrid's picked up and bags them, then gets to work with his own shovel. It feels a little like they're digging their own graves.

"I know you do." He pushes leaves and rocks over the space, trying to conceal it.

Duck kneels and helps, grateful that there's not much grass at this time of year. It's mostly just a matter of getting the detritus distributed evenly. He takes a moment to give Indrid some tips. "It's funny." It's not really. Why is that phrase used at times like these? "I kind of...didn't realize how much I took my Chosen powers for granted. I think I kinda let myself feel invincible for a while, 'specially when I still felt like I could ignore all the fate bullshit. All the perks, none 'a the danger, yeah?"

Indrid nods. "When you've lived hundreds of years, it's easy to think you'll just go on forever. I saw so many futures where other people died, but once I stopped trying to interfere, there were very few where I did. I could usually pretend that I was safe."

"Is it kinda nice?" Duck takes a moment to just hug his knees and look at Indrid. "Not seeing all that anymore?"

"Yes and no." Indrid keeps working, eyes on the ground. "It feels a little like--hm, let me think of an appropriate comparison. I'm sure you've had the forest go quiet around you?"

"Oh, yeah, man. Plenty. Still gets my hackles up."

"I think it's like that: a feeling of calm before an inevitable storm. On one hand, it's so much easier to focus on the present. I can actually see the world around me. I feel like I can think about one thing at a time, for the first time in my life." He picks up a leaf, turns it over in his fingers. "The world feels...real. If this continues and I live through these next days and weeks, I imagine the sensation will remain novel for quite some time."

"And the other hand?"

"I feel like there are threats around every corner, hiding in the shadows, just out of sight. I feel untethered from everything I've ever known. I feel utterly helpless."

Duck stands and walks over. He sits on the ground next to Indrid and pats the space beside him. "Come on. Let's just...freak out for a little bit?"

Indrid chuckles and lies the shovel down. He sits and pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them.

Duck scoots close and bumps his shoulder against Indrid's bicep.

They just lean against each other for a while in silence, unstable beams holding each other aloft.

\--------

It takes a good few hours to clean up the effects of Indrid's crash. A lot of the time is spent with Duck holding onto the crystal while the sylph scales the trees in his moth form to collect scales and prune branches into something appearing more intentional, using both the shears and his mandibles. Duck guides the process, following the procedure that he'd normally use for pest and disease control. They even do their best to fake the tracks of equipment.

"I really hope this is good enough," Duck says when they wind down. "Whatever's keeping the gate invisible won't do much good if the feds decide to comb the area and end up running into it."

Indrid comes down and takes his charm back, and transforms back into his human self. "As much as I'd hate for all our work to be wasted, I hope they don't come out here at all."

"Yeah, me too." Duck has a thought that actually makes him laugh. "Hey, Indrid. Does Murphy's Law actually exist? I mean, if we hadn't done this, would it have almost guaranteed they'd check, but now that we have it's less likely?"

"Hm." He leans on the shears. "Well, I'd obviously be able to give you a more definitive answer if I could see the threads for tomorrow, but in my past experience it tends to be less a matter of the action taken than of its results. Do you feel more confident that this won't raise suspicions, than you did when we first came out here?"

"Hey, uh, could you not? You're gonna dull those."

Indrid stands, pulling the tips of the blades out of the dirt. "My apologies."

Duck nods. "'S okay." He gives their work one last sweep with his flashlight. "Yeah, it's not perfect, but I'm actually pretty damn proud of it."

"As am I, which as strange as it may seem is probably a good thing. The future is a surprisingly malleable thing. Even those of us not gifted with magic as your friend Aubrey is do have an influence that goes deeper than what we choose to do."

"Huh." Duck lets himself ponder that as they head back towards Amnesty Lodge. "Is that why you blame yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"When people don't listen to you. D'you think it's your fault because you didn't, I dunno. Believe hard enough, or whatever?" It takes him a good minute or so before he realizes the other set of footsteps has stopped. He peeks behind him to see his companion standing stock-still between two trees, looking like a particularly unsteady sapling. "Indrid? Hey, partner. Come on. You've been shivering for the past hour-and-a-half. We need to get inside." He retraces his steps and waves a hand in front of Indrid's face.

Indrid reaches up and plucks his hand out of the air. He lowers it.

Duck winces. The grip hurts.

Indrid lets go and meets his eyes. "I don't have an answer for you."

"Okay." He offers a little half-smile. "I don't think it woulda been your fault if we hadn't listened to you. Leo didn't wanna listen to me when I went into the store to get him out, and I found out recently that he's a Chosen like me--yeah, that's wild, I know. I'm still freaking out about it. But he should have listened to me, instead of treating me like I was a nut job. He shoulda known better."

Indrid blinks at him. "Wait, you didn't know about Leo?"

Duck feels his face fall. "What."

"You do mean Leo Tarkesian, right? He never told you?"

"Oh my fucking god."

Indrid scrubs a hand over his face. "This town is a train wreck."

"How did _you_ know?" He kind of wants to shake Indrid's shoulders, but refrains.

"I've known Leo for many years, Duck, since long before he moved to Kepler. Why do you think he keeps nog in stock for me when it's out of season?"

Duck sets the tools against a tree, and then he sets his forehead against it. Repeatedly. "Of course you have."

"Sorry."

Duck is about to just add it to his list of bullshit he has to cope with and move on, when a curl of anger worms its way into his gut. "Wait." He stands slowly and tries not to get too mad before he knows the answer. "Could you have saved Danimal?"

Indrid just looks at him, wide-eyed.

"You didn't call me about him, and he died. But you know Leo, and he gives you your fix. You came out of retirement to save him. Please tell me that's a coincidence, Indrid."

"Oh." He bows his head. "It wasn't just--I don't know that there was anything you could have done for Danimal. It was the first of that abomination's attacks, and while the sudden shift in the futures was alarming I still didn't know until later that what happened to your friend was anything but an accident."

"But you knew he was going to die."

"...Yes." He sets his tools down, as well, and tucks his hands under his arms. "Duck, I've seen the coming deaths of thousands, without doing anything to stop them. I've done nothing to stop them, for the past fifty-two years."

Duck's head is pounding. He knew that. Of course he knew that. Indrid told that to him and Aubrey and Ned, the first time they ever met him. But Duck didn't know those people. He _liked_ Danimal. He was a good guy, and a good boss, and....

Oh.

He's being a hypocrite, isn't he? He was willing to forgive Indrid until it was personal. And how many people died before he accepted his destiny? How much of the old Pine Guard--Mama's friends, and Barclay's, and maybe everyone else's at the lodge--could have been saved if he'd accepted his responsibilities sooner?

Indrid looks like he's trying to disappear into himself.

Duck walks over and pulls him into his arms. "Sorry. That wasn't fair."

Indrid's whole body is tensed, but he carefully encircles Duck in a hug, too.

"I'm the last person who's got any right to judge you."

The hug gets a lot firmer. Indrid sets his chin on Duck's helmet and relaxes. "Well, just remember that I have no room to condemn you, either."

"Yeah, guess that's true." He gives one last squeeze and lets go. "Now can we go in? Even I'm gettin' cold, and I'm used to being out in all sorts of inclement weather."

Indrid unwraps from around him and gathers the tools.

As they put everything away and Duck does his best to hide the bag of scales under a seat, he has a feeling that neither of them are going to sleep very soundly for the hour or so they have left before daybreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna get a little vulnerable for a moment here:
> 
> You may notice that I added some new tags to this story. Both CTSD and DTD are proposed trauma conditions that aren't yet in the DSM. Along with C-PTSD (Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), they exist to fill in the holes left by PTSD treatment, when treating for a short-lasting traumatic event in adulthood isn't adequate. I'm a sufferer of complex trauma (likely the same things that Indrid has, actually, albeit because of different factors), so writing this story is very personal and cathartic to me. This chapter--which is basically an extended conversation about trauma--is especially so. I didn't realize how personal this all was until I started writing Stern with acute trauma reactions last chapter, and pondering Indrid's character more deeply yesterday.
> 
> When I find myself fixated on a certain character or pairing, it always turns out to be because I need to use the fiction to see my own issues from an outside perspective, and thus discover and heal things about myself. It turns out this is no exception. Finding the reason this story exists helps me feel a lot better about spending so much of my time and focus on it.
> 
> I hope, for those of you who are also suffering, that this work brings you some solace, as well. You've got this. I believe in you. I love you. ♥
> 
> In much funnier news, when I was trying to write the part that became the beginning of this chapter a couple nights ago, I was half asleep. Instead of writing, "Duck slides down and scoots to sit on the rug. He pulls Maple into his lap," what I wrote was, "Duck slides down and scoots to sit on the world. He pulls Maple into his mouth." I still lose it every time I think about it. 
> 
> Duck, no. You're Justin's character, not Griffin's. You are not an eldritch vore beast.


	12. Foreshadowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was tough, since it's so different. This is the second version. I'm not 100% sure how I feel about it, but it was a good experiment, and it'll have payoff later. I am amused by the title. XD
> 
> The tags were getting unwieldy with my trying to add every character who appeared. So, instead, I deleted out characters who have a less significant role (Sorry, Jake Coolice, Dr. Harris Bonkers, Detective Megan...) and just rounded out the cast of main players. Assuming nobody surprises me, the tags should give a pretty good idea of who's going to be important. The "Original Female Character(s)" is for Agent Faulkner.

It begins the way it always does, as a regular dream.

The chair beneath him is chill metal, the table under his elbows colder still. Before him, however, is his old flame, shining brightly as the April sun glinting off of windows and from the unused spoon beside him. He leans forward, laces their hands together. Around them people rush and shout, cars honk, and the air smells faintly of sulfur, but they're close enough that their voices carry and he can just pick up the familiar scent of herbs and citrus. Their coffees sit forgotten. They chat for a while, then laugh.

The words don't matter. What matters is the warm joy waking up in his chest, sparking an old longing that he hasn't felt in years.

Is he crying? No, it's only a summer shower on his cheeks. He pulls out his umbrella, scoots his chair around the table so he can share. Before them, the rain washes away all sign of others, turpentine on an oil painting, until they're the only people in the world.

He's happy: That's what tips him off that it's a dream.

Their dates were never this quiet.

The signal scrambles. His umbrella twists downward and becomes a windshield. The wipers beat out a march in time with the tires on the road. There's a drink in the cup holder, and a bag of snacks in the passenger seat where in another, kinder timeline another person might have sat. On the dashboard are taped the Polaroids of him and his friends at the waterfront. Beside those is a pencil sketch of a person in a skateboard helmet, fingers raised in a peace sign. The expression is bland and tired. He knows that look too well; he's seen it in the mirror a thousand times and counting.

Out here, far from any city and blurred by the downpour, everything looks the same. He's been driving for hours, afraid that if he stops he'll lose his nerve. He's tired, and it's a blessing he's lasted this long with only the rhythmic sounds as his companions.

Blessings never last. His eyelids become heavy, then his head.

He jolts awake in the Monongahela. Before him is the gate, and above him the full moon. A wind whips around him as the light catches in the opening and spreads.

He clutches Beacon and waits.

The abomination is big. The first hand that passes between the stone pillars is the size of his ribcage, and encased in fire.

He swings down, slashes across it. An ooze sticks to the blade and splatters like napalm. Nothing ignites--he swept the clearing of pine needles this afternoon--but the abomination does the opposite of what he'd hoped, and drags itself fully through the portal.

It lets out a bellowing roar. He screams back and swings up at its face.

He hacks wildly, sweat already streaming down his brow. All he has to do is keep the thing backed up against the gate. All he has to do is prevent it from getting to the trees, and this battle will be short. One slash, two. A lick of fire catches on the cuff of his pants. Three, four, five, and it's spreading and lancing pain up his leg.

Then the rain starts, just as his vision told him, just as he confirmed with Indrid's lilting voice over the phone. It comes in a torrent, a freak flash of lucky weather from some benefactor on high. It only lasts a few moments before it trickles into a sprinkle. It's not enough to douse this creature that's lit from within, but it weakens it and saves his burning skin.

He thrusts Beacon upwards, through the monster's throat. The point sticks out the other side.

He runs.

Behind him, there's a flash in the sky as lightning strikes Beacon like a rod. There's one last strangled cry from the abomination as the electricity pulses through its body and combusts the burning core.

He dives behind a tree as the creature explodes.

He takes a while to catch his breath before he stumbles back towards the gate. The stone is undamaged, and Beacon is lying on the ground. The last traces of flaming ooze are dissolving already, and the tail end of the rain is taking care of any that reached the trees.

He collapses, in exhaustion and relief.

When he comes to again, he's on his back with Beacon pointed at his face.

The living fire wielding his blade is smaller than the beast he vanquished, but the fear he feels is so much greater.

"Stay still," it says. "I have come too far, and fought too hard for this. It would bring me no pleasure to have to strike you down."

"Don't do this," he pleads. "You're tampering with things you don't understand."

A broadsword swings into his line of vision and hits Beacon away with a piercing clang. Above him, a massive winged form perches atop the lintel. A beam of light shoots towards the flame's feet, and a being with eyes like glowing embers and teeth like a wild animal's charges in and tackles it backwards before jumping back and retreating to his side.

All around him, figures of different shapes and sizes file into the clearing, gathering around the gate.

The fire shrieks in rage, raises Beacon, and moves in for the kill.

Leo Tarkesian wakes abruptly to the sound of the heart monitor, as it plays out the beat of his own erratic pulse.


	13. Certainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The takeover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a challenge, but I'm getting a good idea of what Faulkner's like now. She surprised me. I hope she surprises you, too!
> 
> I'm slightly amused that this is Chapter 13.
> 
> CW for some covert transphobia.

It's raining when Agent Faulkner arrives in Kepler. She parks outside the Sheriff's station and pulls on her poncho. It looks like Stern's already here, if the car parked near the door is any indication.

Fantastic.

She stands and waits for her team to file into line. "Alright, boys, I want a perimeter around this whole town. Nobody gets in without clearance, and absolutely nobody or nothing gets out. Hoyden, I want public internet and phone lines controlled and monitored. Turn off everything except emergency services if you have to. If anyone's snitched online about what happened last night, I want that information contained, filed, and then wiped from all public servers. We can't trust that HQ already got everything. Jericho, you're in charge of supply lines. Keep the people fed and watered, but make sure they need to answer to us for the essentials. All of you, play nice with the cops and public servants. So long as they don't interfere, let them keep on feeling like they're being useful. And everyone?"

They all have their attention fixed on her. Good.

"Watch the skies. Tranq anything bigger than a goose. Dismissed." She lets herself be proud of the way they immediately get to work. It's a good task force. Efficient. Obedient.

She goes into the station, and smiles as brightly as she can when she finds her wayward coworker right inside the front door. "Ramrod! Good to see you. It's been so long."

His back immediately straightens up, posture going as stiff as his nickname. "Agent Faulkner."

She claps him on the shoulder. "Why don't you ever call?"

He tries to hide the trembling of his hands by shoving them in his pockets. How cute. "I don't think I have to dignify that with a response."

"No, I suppose you don't. It's rather rude, though, don't you think?" The grip on his shoulder tightens and she leans in close. "I heard you lost my Mothman, but I shouldn't be surprised. How long have you been here? Almost eight months, after the best 'squatch sighting we've had in decades, and you still haven't found Bigfoot?" She shakes her head. "That ape doesn't even have any special powers. It can't fly. It's just a big, dumb animal."

His gaze darkens. It's almost like he has a spine. "If it's so easy, why don't you find it?"

She lets him go and stands up straight, still smiling. "Maybe I will, once I bag my bug. But that'd be embarrassing for you, wouldn't it?"

His jaw is tense. Faulkner can practically hear the grinding of his teeth. "Let's just talk to the cops." He turns on his heel and leads the way deeper into the station.

Ten minutes later, and she has a list of names and contact info for people she wants to interrogate. A few quick phone calls after that, and she has an appointment with the local news. "Well, that was easy. Where's a good place to eat around here, Ramrod?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, that's right. You've been broke ever since the department cut off your funding." She waves him off. "In that case, I won't be needing your help for a while. Go get back to...whatever you've been doing here all this time. My team and I will take it from here."

Maybe that Megan girl knows where to get some decent breakfast.

\--------

At her appointed time, Faulkner arrives at the news station. She makes sure that she looks and sounds her best, and then she waits her turn while the anchors introduce her and explain the basics of what happened and why she's here.

Once they're done, she addresses the people. "Good morning, Kepler! I'm FBI Special Agent Faulkner, and I'll be taking care of you while we address the tragedies that have shaken your lovely community." She puts on the motherly tone that she saves for times like these. "There is no need to fear, dear people of Kepler. We're here to protect you, and we're going to take very good care of you. I understand that it may be alarming to have strangers so close to home, but we will be working with and supporting the local law enforcement who you already know and trust, to apprehend the villains who did this." She smiles for the camera.

"Thank you, Agent Faulkner. It's good to know that the government is taking our crisis seriously. Is there anything else that the people need to know?"

"Yes. To ensure that you are as safe as you can be, I regret to inform you all that we will have to impose a few small inconveniences. We are temporarily suspending travel to and from Kepler, and we will also be enforcing an 8 PM curfew. Please keep your children and pets inside during the investigation, and try to only make the most necessary trips out of your homes. But not to worry: You won't have to disrupt your lives for long. I predict that Kepler will be safe again within the week, and then we'll be out of your hair. If you have any information at all that you think can help us, please call the sheriff station with your tips. Remember to use the tip line, and not 9-1-1."

One of the news anchors mentions that the number is being run across the marquee.

"Thank you, Ms. Grady. Lastly, please cooperate with your agents. Listen to what they have to say--they have your best interests at heart--and don't interrupt their work. Thank you for your time." She gives a polite nod and lets the others wrap up the spot. Then she stands and gets ready for the real work.

\--------

The Cryptonomica is her first stop. Ned Chicane is apparently out, but his associate says he's gone to Amnesty Lodge. Convenient, she thinks, given she needs to go there anyway, to speak with Aubrey Little. Chicane's assistant Kirby is there, however, so Faulkner spends some time having a friendly chat with him. She takes a look at his Bigfoot footage, and flips through a few issues of his quaint little newsletter.

Most of what's in the shop and the Lamplighter is obvious horseshit, but he does ask, "So, do you want to see what I recorded yesterday? Got a great view of the Mothman battle. Haven't even released it yet."

"I would love to." She notices the soda cans all around him, and buys him one from the machine. "I think we're going to get along great, Kirby. By the way, what's going on with your handsome friend, there?" She leans in close to whisper. "The one with the _charming_ speech impediment?"

\--------

She skips visiting Ranger Newton for now, and decides she'd rather save that for last. Though she knows she's not going to have an unwanted encounter at his apartment complex, it doesn't ease her concerns as much as she'd like it to. She might as well kill two birds with one stone instead, and head straight to Amnesty Lodge.

"Well, isn't this homey," she says as she comes in and hangs up her coat and scarf. She gets a good look at the motley crew gathered in the lobby, and grins at her luck. This is going to be even simpler than she thought. She catches Stern trying to escape into the back hallway and calls out, sing-song. "Oh, Ramrod! Where are you going? Don't you want to introduce me to your _friends_ here?" She strides towards him, scanning her eyes over the others in the room as she passes. "Have you actually been interrogating my suspects?"

A large woman intercepts her. "Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to stop harassin' my patrons, and tell me what you're doin' in my hotel."

"I assure you I'm not harassing him, Ms...?"

"They call me Mama."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Well, I'm not going to do that. I ask again, Ms....?"

The woman growls at her. "You first."

"I am FBI Special Agent Faulkner." She opens her badge and allows the woman to examine it. "The man who just fled into the back is my co-worker, and you, _ma'am_ , appear to be harboring at least five persons of interest for my current case. Isn't that strange?"

"Not at all." The woman leans back on one leg, arms crossed. "They just went through a traumatic experience, and this here lodge is called Amnesty for a reason, Miss Faulkner."

She knows this woman's type: If she thinks she can get under her skin, she's going to have to work a lot harder at it. "Well, it makes things easier on me. Now," Faulkner turns and opens her arms to the room, "I'm going to need to see all of your identifications." She looks back over her shoulder and holds out a hand. "And that includes yours, Ms..."

The woman grunts and hands over her driver's license.

"Ah, Ms. Cobb. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Faulkner snaps a picture of the card, then hands it back and goes around to collect everyone else's and do the same. When she gets to Ranger Newton, she stops and looks down at him, unimpressed. "While I'm grateful to you for coming here and saving me a trip, Ranger, I'm going to need to see your state ID, not your work one."

He stammers. "Uh, it's still government-issued, though. Ain't that good enough?"

"I'm afraid not."

He mutters something--she guesses something rude--under his breath and fishes out his driver's license from a worn novelty wallet.

"White-out, Ranger? Really?" She scratches off the smear with "DUCK" written on it, to reveal the name underneath. Her eyebrows raise. "Hm. That's an interesting name for a man." She snaps the picture and hands it back. 

He snatches it out of her hand and hides it away in his wallet, then back in his pocket. He's bright red and fuming. That could be useful later.

"How did you get the Forest Service to allow you to use a nickname on your work identification, Ranger?" She shakes her head. "Shameful that a fellow government agency would be so lax with protocol. But, I suppose they hired a," she pauses, looking into the ranger's eyes, "man, who calls himself 'Duck', so I should lower my expectations."

"Hey, leave him alone!" yells Aubrey Little, standing with a rabbit in her arms. "Duck's a great park ranger."

She ignores the girl and goes about her business. "Ned Chicane" is a fake name, though his false ID is a competent forgery. She supposes she might have to give Stern some small amount of credit, for having already done a background check on him. She seriously doubts the validity of "Jake Coolice", as well, though perhaps he's had a legal name change. He seems like the kind who actually might, unlike Ranger Newton. Glenn Calloway and Daniella Gaertner, who are fussing quietly over Newton and Little, will need to be watched if they're friendly with the POI.

"I'm going to need to have an extended chat with you three," she points to Newton, Little, and Chicane. "The two of you," she motions to the gang members sitting together in the back, "are going to need to stay here until I'm done, so I can contact your town's authorities. I will not tolerate vigilantes running loose. Do not try to run; it will only make things worse for you." She pulls a chair over from a dining table. "The rest of you can leave. I'll deal with you later."

"What if we'd rather stay?" says the proprietor with a self-satisfied sneer.

"Let me rephrase, Ms. Cobb: Get out and do not interfere with my investigation again, or you will regret it."

Chicane waves Cobb off, casual. "Hey, no worries. We got this."

Newton doesn't look so sure.

"And Ms. Little, please put your animal away."

"His name is Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD."

"I don't care. It's a distraction."

Her expression is pure incredulous rage.

"Whoa, Aubrey," says Newton, reaching up to encase her hand in his. "Just do what the lady says, okay?"

Too late. Faulkner already saw the glow around her fingertips. Her smile widens. "And take off your sunglasses, please."

She's shaking already as she hands her rabbit off to Gaertner. "I...can't. Light sensitivity."

"Do you have a prescription?"

Her mouth gapes, fish-like "N--"

Calloway cuts her off, a finger raised. "I'll find your prescription, Aubrey. It's in your desk, correct?"

"Uh, yeah. Right."

Interesting.

Faulkner waits patiently until the room is cleared, then a bit longer for Calloway to return. He comes back and hands her a slip of paper. She looks over it, flips it in her hand, checks it against the light. "Hm. Fine. You can keep your glasses, Ms. Little." She may not have anything concrete yet, but there is definitely something suspicious going on. She'll uncover it soon enough.

Soon, she'll break Kepler wide open.


	14. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is hatched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's late! This is actually the fourth iteration of this chapter. I kept starting it, and I could just tell it wasn't working out, so I'd scrap it and start over. I got the first section last night, then it went bad again after that and I slept on it. Ended up throwing out most of what I wrote again, then finally getting a draft I liked.

Mama's scared.

There was a day, half a lifetime ago, when she thought her destiny was to be an artist. In a way that never changed, but nowadays the art mostly serves to keep her grounded and give her the means to do the more important things. "Summer Fawn" paid for supplies. "Nature's Reliquary", paid for food.

"Amnesty Lodge", her best work and her only collaborative piece to date, cost her sweat and blood and tears and countless hours of her life, but it brought her a family and a purpose.

She's an artist and a craftswoman; that much is true, but she would cut off her own hands so she could never carve or build again, if it would save the people of Sylvain--her _children_ , goddamnit, even if most of them are twice her age or more.

She can feel the end coming, and she's not prepared. One way or another, this will be the last of the Pine Guard. Either they'll all be destroyed, or they'll somehow pull through and change everything, but she knows that things are never going to go back to the way they used to be.

And Mama's scared.

Who will she be, when it's over?

\--------

It says a lot about how haywire things have already gone, that her only reaction to the revelations of the morning is a numb, "Okay, now what?" There's so much piled on her already, that the anxiety and fury she'd normally feel is crushed under the weight of it. She's beyond freaking out at every little thing that flies off the rails. The train's already crashed and spilled its steaming pile of manure all over everything she's fought so hard to maintain.

So instead of worrying about secrets and preventing war, she does the only thing she can think to do: She sits down with her Pine Guard and their new allies, and works with them to build a plan. If Agent Faulkner is going to come and try to destroy her family, Mama's going to treat her just like an abomination.

They don't go to the cellar today. This impacts everyone living or staying in Amnesty Lodge, and so everyone is involved. Together, they determine that their best bet, despite the risk of stories getting crossed, is to face Agent Faulkner together.

Stern is surprisingly free with the information he gives them. Mama gets the impression quickly that he wants this woman taken down as much as they do. His expressions and his posture are like a schoolboy who finally got the adults to listen to him about his playground bully, and damn it all if that doesn't wake up Mama's protective streak somethin' fierce. She's still not sure she totally trusts the guy, but he apparently knows about both Barclay and Indrid and is treating them as actual goddamn people, so she chooses, for now, to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Indrid is a strange one. He spends the whole morning wearing this tired little beatific smile that paints Mama a better picture of his history than any words ever could. Duck, Aubrey, and Dani all seem to like him a lot. Ned is cordial with him, but not necessarily friendly. He and Barclay seem to have something going on between them that makes the atmosphere feel tense and fragile, but it's not animosity. She doesn't have the time or the luxury of asking about it now. What she does get is that Indrid is older than possibly anyone else in the lodge and smart as a whip, and that even without his powers they're going to want to keep him close.

They learn some things about Faulkner: She's arrogant. She has less than a year to find the Mothman before she's forced into mandatory retirement at age 57, so she's desperate. She's not against bending her morals to achieve her goals. Stern seems to have this image of her as some brutally efficient badass, and yet she's been going after the same mark for close to 18 years, so something isn't adding up. She's firmly convinced that Indrid is some kind of demonic entity who needs to be captured or killed as a matter of National Security, and has a tendency to put down anyone who believes otherwise as a "bleeding heart idiot".

All of these things make her incredibly dangerous.

"Okay, so what I'm gettin' here is that her biggest strength is interrogation, which from her point of view means using any bull-headed abuse tactic in the book to try and get you to crack." Mama paces. "It sounds like she's got no empathy and no reservations about makin' you feel like shit, if it gets her what she wants. Her goal is to make herself seem bigger and you smaller. Don't take the bait, and stick together. And for the love of all that is good in this world, do _not_ let her get Duck alone."

"That's fair," Duck says.

"Stern."

"Yes?"

"I know she's expectin' you to come greet her at the sheriff's station. You gonna be okay out there?"

He sighs. "I think so. I'm not looking forward to it, but I don't think she's going to go after me first thing. She probably doesn't even see me as worth questioning at this point."

"Good. I think Ned's got the right idea: Play up the incompetent angle. I know it sucks, but resist the urge to defend yourself or try and prove her wrong. Won't work anyhow. Just let her keep believin' what she already believes, and keep yer chin up knowin' you're gonna turn right back around and help us take her down. If she pisses y'off, then good: That's more fuel you got to help us. So long as you're willin' to defend ours, we're willin' to defend you, and we're stronger together than that bitch and her pack will ever be."

"Thank you, uh. Am I allowed to...?"

"Call me Mama?"

He nods.

"Yeah, kid, if you wanna." She doesn't care if he's in his 40s; that's still a kid in her book.

He doesn't fight it. "Okay. Thank you, Mama."

She claps him on the shoulder. Barclay hands him his thermos full of fresh coffee.

He gives a little salute and goes.

And now they wait.

\--------

Mama, despite herself, is pissed. She didn't think that this woman would be able to get to her, and it wasn't even what she said to Mama herself that did it; it was the way she treated Duck and Aubrey. It is taking everything she has not to just break her snooty little nose.

She gathers everyone, including Stern, in her room in the very back of the lodge, because there ain't no way she's gonna just let this stand. "Where's Indrid?"

He rushes in, frantic, carrying a sketchbook and pencil. "I'm here. Does anyone know what a prescription for tinted glasses looks like? It's for Aubrey. I used to have one, but...." He throws the sketchbook open and flutters his hands over it, looking around the room.

Mama grabs her own for her reading glasses and hands it to him. "Not quite what you're lookin' for, but does this help?"

"Yes, that should be fine." He draws out a rough version and tears it out, then runs his hands over it and does some magic to make it seem worn and printed. Then he rushes out of the room again.

They all wait silently for his return. He comes back and leans against the doorframe, relief etched in his features. "She bought it. She's not going to make Aubrey take off her sunglasses."

"Thank you." Dani walks over and takes his hand, then pulls him to sit and plops Dr. Harris Bonkers in his lap.

Mama closes the door, just in case. "I don't like that she's treatin' Aubrey, Duck, and Ned different from Hollis and Keith. That means she knows they're special. We can't let her prove Aubrey's got magic, or find any of their enchanted weapons."

"Wait, what?" Stern perks up.

Indrid just shakes his head. "Now's not the time to explain, Rodney." Dr. Harris Bonkers seems to be enjoying Indrid's nervous fidgeting, if the way he's leaning into the scratches and pets up his ears is any indication. "I agree. I don't like this at all. I think we need to get her away from them and regroup, as quickly as we can."

Barclay fiddles with his bracelet. "How're we supposed to do that?"

Stern comes out a bit from the corner he's been studiously trying to disappear into. "The only thing I know that'll stop Faulkner once she's started down one path, is to give her something she wants more."

"And what she wants more than them is me," Indrid says.

Mama's jaw clenches. "Well, we're not giving you up to save them, if that's what you're thinkin'. I don't tolerate martyrdom in my lodge."

He shakes his head. "No, I don't want to turn myself in, either. I don't think that would solve anything, and frankly I'm not that selfless."

Mama snorts. At least he's honest.

"Perhaps we can give her a little incentive, though. Dangle a carrot, as it were?"

"Maybe Ned's got something?" Jake adds.

Barclay grumbles. "Wouldn't put it past him."

"We could call that Kirby guy!" Dani looks hopeful.

Stern just shakes his head. "I can guarantee that Faulkner's got the lines tapped. If we're going to do something, we need to use what we have here."

"Ah!" Dr. Harris Bonkers startles in Indrid's lap, then immediately settles back down as Dani steps in to soothe him. "Duck and I collected a large quantity of my scales last night. Maybe we could use those somehow. Granted, they are in Duck's truck, which is visible out the front windows of the lodge."

"Hold on." Stern goes out, then comes back with a bag. "I collected these while I was tracking you."

Dani grins. "What if someone went up on the roof and threw some scales down like Indrid's flying overhead, right where she can see them?"

Moira stands, smirking. "I can do you one even better than that."

For the first time since this all kicked off last night, Mama feels like they could pull this off. If they have a plan, they can do this. If they have a plan, then they can win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duck and Aubrey are coming forward most as candidates for next chapter's POV. Depends which one feels more like telling me their side. I'm leaning towards Duck, I think. He's really shaken from what Faulkner pulled on him in Ch. 13, and there's something Indrid wants to tell him.


	15. Actualization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small things can make a world of difference.

Duck feels the absence of the others like starvation. "Don't take the bait," Mama had said. Don't let her make you feel small.

Too late.

This is more than just bait, really. Faulkner's got a loaded gun that she could aim at him at any moment. Sure, 95% of everyone in Kepler already knows, but Duck had started taking for granted that he was spending more and more time around people who didn't, the way Aubrey and Ned and Indrid and most of the residents of Amnesty Lodge don't. He hadn't even realized, fully, how fuckin' good it felt to be around people who just knew him as Duck, and not....

How many of them have already figured it out? How many of them are going to ask, "Hey, Duck, what's your _real_ name?"

_It's Duck. It's **Duck**. My name is Duck. It was never a nickname; I only told you that so you wouldn't ask._

(What kind of silly name is Duck, anyway?)

And, god, he hates himself a little, to think that he'd do almost anything if it'd stop her from telling them.

She knows. She fucking _knows_ , and she's gonna string him along until she can use him against them, and then she's gonna dangle it over him and watch how he breaks and gives in, just to cling to that secret and to everything that holding onto it means they don't think about him.

"So," she drawls in that self-satisfied way, "I heard some very fascinating things about the three of you."

"That so?" Ned's the only one who doesn't look like he's about to lose his shit. He gets up and grabs himself a paper cup of coffee from the coffee maker.

Faulkner glares at his back and waits for him to return his attention to her.

He sits down again, this time nudging himself between Duck and Aubrey. He drapes his arms casually over the back of the couch and takes a sip from behind Duck's head. "Well? You gonna tell us? I love hearing stories about myself."

Her mouth slowly widens into a sneer. "What I heard, Mr. Chicane, is that you were fighting monsters with a children's toy. Rather strange and immature of you, don't you think? And your friends here were supposedly using magic spells and a talking sword?"

Ned chuckles, then gives a huge grin. "Well, yeah, but it's all in good fun. Person in a costume, my NARF blaster, Duck's ventriloquism, Aubrey's magic act--all makes for a hell of a show, right?"

Faulkner laughs. It's a high, piercing thing that sets Duck's teeth on edge. "Adorable, that you'd think I'd fall for that, Mr. Chicane. Unless what you're saying is that your little LARPing session got people killed. In that case, the three of you are going to be in a lot of trouble." She leans forward. "Is that what you're telling me, Mr. Chicane?"

Ned's face falls. 

Shit. If all three of them are down, how are they gonna get through this? Duck puts all his focus on trying to keep his breathing steady and his expression neutral.

Ned's scrambling to recover, when there's a hiss from Faulkner's hip.

"Excuse me for a moment." She picks up her walkie talkie and activates it. "Yes? I'm in the middle of an interrogation, so this had better be important."

"Agent Faulkner, these scales just fell outta the sky above us. Came from nowhere. Look just like the ones in the closeup moth pics from the briefing."

She sits up fully. "You were supposed to be monitoring the airspace."

"We were, but there weren't nothing there."

She stands, and for the first time since she got here she looks kinda spooked. "Scales don't just fall from the sky, Agent. There had to be something. A gust of wind, perhaps? A shadow?"

"It was still as death, and I swear neither me nor Ulrich saw anything. Just one moment we were patrolling, and the next there was this flurry of feathery scales. Like some kinda freak snowfall." There's a long pause, then the voice is much more hushed. "Mothman can't go invisible, right?"

She actually pales. "That...would explain some things." She seems to have almost forgotten what she was doing, except for the fact that she orders some of her men to come monitor the lodge's exits while she goes to investigate.

Then she's gone, sweeping out the door with her coat and scarf billowing behind her as she throws them on mid-run.

There's a moment of stunned silence, then Duck, Ned and Aubrey all jump as someone whispers, "Boo," behind them.

"Fuck, Indrid, what the hell?" Duck's got a hand on his chest as he works to slow the jackhammering under his ribs.

Aubrey leans over the back of the couch to swipe at him. "Hey!"

He backs away from the onslaught and covers his laughter. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to surprise you. I forget sometimes that surprise can be an unpleasant emotion."

Ned is up and grabbing napkins to mop up the coffee he splashed on the couch and the rug behind it. "Alright, I wanna know how you pulled that off. Obviously, you weren't actually there."

Mama's come out by this point, too. "Moira. We need to hurry and get y'all prepped for when Agent Fuckner gets back."

Aubrey's taken Dr. Harris Bonkers back from Dani, and is hugging him close. She snorts at the name. "What can we do?"

Ned takes the cleaning spray Barclay offers him. "Can we just send her down to investigate the cellar so she can get eaten by Thacker or something?"

"No, Ned," Mama deadpans. "We're not encouragin' cannibalism, much as I'd love to get rid of her. Thacker deserves better'n that."

Duck wants to laugh. He wants to be relieved. He wants to feel anything but a continuous, sinking dread.

"Duck?" Indrid leans over the back of the sofa next to him. "Mind if I borrow you for a moment?"

The dread sinks even further into him, right down into his bones. "Uh, yeah bud. Sure thing."

Indrid leads him to a quieter part of the lobby. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Duck clenches his fists. "About my name? Maybe 'cause it ain't none of your business?"

He raises his hands in front of himself. "No! No, I'm sorry. I-I'm usually better able to avoid misunderstandings like this, um." He chuckles sadly and laces his fingers together. "Earlier, when we went around and checked to make sure everyone had valid identification, after Rodney told us we were likely to be carded. Why didn't you speak up? We could have altered your license for you. It would have been an easy enchantment; almost any one of us could have done it."

There's heat behind Duck's eyes suddenly, moisture gathering that he blinks away. "I thought she woulda taken my work ID, and I didn't--" He takes a deep breath, grounding. "Someone mighta asked questions."

Indrid moves his focus to somewhere slightly past Duck's left ear. "Ah. I know it's probably too little, too late, but," he holds out a hand and only briefly flicks his eyes to meet Duck's, "I could do it now, if you'd like? It's the least I could do, since I couldn't predict this outcome."

"Hey, Indrid?" Duck scuffs a foot against the floor. "Do you already know? What it says?"

"No, I don't. There was never a future where you revealed it."

At least there are some small mercies in the world. "I don't want you to see it."

"I don't have to. You can cover it. I just need to see enough to get an idea of how it should look when it's finished."

He considers it. He pulls out his wallet and looks at the card. His deadname stares back at him, and he can feel the way it makes the anger bubble up in his gut. "Y'know why I didn't get it changed proper?"

His head gives the most minute shake.

"To get your name changed the legal way, you gotta take it to court, and before that you gotta publish it in the newspaper." He flicks the card a few times. "So to get this stupid little piece 'a plastic to be right, I woulda had to pay money to put a name I hate in the papers, and take time off work for people to prob'ly judge me for wantin' to name myself after a waterfowl. And after all that, they coulda said no."

"Well," Indrid leans down a bit so Duck can see his tentative smile, "my second name is a temperature, and the first doesn't seem to exist in your world."

Duck snorts, despite himself. "One letter off Ingrid, though. Ya sound like someone's grandma."

His smile grows. "Also, I know people who are actual ducks. So your name doesn't sound all that strange to me."

"Aw, shit, dude." Duck is straight-up snickering now. "Maybe I should get you to make me a duck-man sylph disguise instead. Someone goes, 'So, why's your name Duck?', and I put on a ring or some shit and just stare at 'em."

Indrid lets out an absolutely undignified splutter of mirth, then devolves into gasping titters as he tries to calm down.

It sets Duck off, too. He lets himself get swept away in the relief of it, until he notices that everyone's stopped to stare at them. He considers the card again as he catches his breath, then puts a finger over the name and turns it towards Indrid. "Do it." He's still smiling.

Indrid smiles back, soft and genuine. He reaches out and taps Duck's fingernail.

Duck watches as the card glows, and his surname moves to align with the shorter name he hopes is now beside it. He turns the card and looks. The heat and the moisture in his eyes are back. "Damn. Really that easy, huh?"

"Yep! As it should be."

"Yeah." He scrubs the tears away from his eyes before they can fall. "Shit, sorry. Thanks, man."

"It really is the least I can do, Duck. If I could have known this was going to happen to you, I would have taken action to prevent it."

He's shaking his head hard, and has to sniff to keep a drop of snot from running down his face. "It's more than ya know."

"You two get over here!" Mama shouts, tapping her foot. "Duck, you're the last person who's got time to be gettin' distracted."

"Sorry, sorry, sheesh. Was havin' a moment there." He wanders over.

Aubrey makes a grabby hand at him with the one not holding up ten pounds of bunny, and squeals when she takes a look at the card. She bounces on the balls of her feet and shows it off to Ned and Dani and Barclay.

Indrid just gives Mama a subdued smile and says, "Morale is very important."

She softens at that. "Alright, fine. But we need to figure out what to do with that goddamn awful sword 'a yours and Ned's blaster."

"And Snnnniaytch?"

"The fuck's that?"

Aubrey pulls the dirk out of her boot and makes a whooshing noise as she floats it in a little circle in front of her.

Ned reaches for it, but has to recoil as it nearly slices his hand. "What the hell, Aubrey? Put that thing away!"

Part of Duck thinks he should be scared shitless. He should still be feeling that sinking, bone-deep dread. But as he looks at his friends, then catches Indrid's wink and one last peek at his ID before he slips it back into his wallet, he feels...big.

Bring it on, Fuckner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters so far. It's maybe not the best-written one, but the sentiment means a lot to me. I hope you all enjoyed it, too, and that you have people in your lives who treat you with respect and understanding. If you're on the trans spectrum, I also wish you lots of gender euphoria! ♥


	16. Vitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to haunt the FBI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm running late again, but I'm actually pretty proud of myself! This isn't even my favorite chapter (although I am very happy with the opening), but the important thing is that I pushed through a major block and wrote even though I was feeling insecure and stuck. I spent most of yesterday trying to write and was just not. getting. ANYTHING. I stepped away and figured out some things about the story and a couple characters in it, and realized that I was trying to use the wrong POV. So, I still made progress yesterday and then got through a chapter today (barely, seeing as it's after 11:30 PM in my time zone, but I'm gonna count it!). That's huge for me, since when I get stuck like this I usually have a tendency to get discouraged and step away for a long period--sometimes forever. I am NOT going to let that happen with this one.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! ♥ Thanks for sticking with me!

Moira doesn't usually fly. She doesn't normally go invisible, or make a habit of playing tricks as some of her peers did when they lost their corporeal forms.

No, she usually keeps her feet on the ground and the pin in her hair.

She knows things are different for her, compared to most residents of Amnesty Lodge. For them, the fear of death hangs like heavy fruit above their heads, reminding them of the home they've lost and the second chance that's been stolen from them. For her, Earth is a place where she has an excuse to put on a new skin, where she can still feel the sun on her face and the keys beneath her fingers.

Earth, in the most literal sense, lets Moira feel alive.

If you ask, Moira would not say that she's refusing to accept her death. She knows she's dead. She remembers the illness that slowly ate away her Sylvan form from the inside, the months upon agonizing months of clinging to the last dregs of her body's strength. She was afraid to die, definitely--so much so that the psychopomps had started to get impatient with her--but when she finally gave in and let go the relief was immeasurable. So it's not that she's trying to pretend she never died, nor to act like she's still alive.

It's just that coming to Earth meant learning about concepts like doctors and medicine. It meant meeting these strange, short-lived, fleeting creatures called humans, who care so much about living that they'll fight tooth and nail to hold on, the way she was criticized for doing. It meant seeing what it's like to value life as something precious.

When you're guaranteed to live on after death, you're not allowed to mourn yourself. You're not allowed to be scared. It's never been that she's refusing to face reality, but that she's finally living life to the fullest, the way she never did on Sylvain.

Becoming a ghost was not her second chance; being human is her first.

But this? This feels _good_ , in ways she couldn't have possibly expected when she volunteered to do it. Being a ghost has its benefits, prime among them the freedom from most physical limitations. She's never really taken advantage of that.

She was missing out.

Her friends are trapped in ways she is not, and she's going to put the people who did it to them through living hell. They're afraid of the Mothman? They're going to be terrified by nightfall.

It's freeing, in a way, thrilling like she hasn't felt since childhood, to toy with these people. She doesn't hurt them--she doesn't even put them in danger--only spurs them to imagine the horrors that could be awaiting them. She plays them like her piano, really, the notes as fluttering scales and a cold presence at the backs of their necks. She builds the score of their scary movie in the subtle things.

She's never _haunted_ anyone before. It's actually kind of entertaining.

Faulkner herself is unfortunately less susceptible. She's obviously tense, but she has fought real dangers, faced and overcome real foes. She uses her fear as fuel, testing and observing and taking note of her new opponent's moves. "It's toying with us," she says. "Don't let it intimidate you. We are the hunters here."

So Moira avoids her, and she snaps twigs and rustles leaves behind the backs of the more high-strung agents, and she listens to them as they gradually lose their nerves.

"Hey, Albright, d'you think the Mothman really killed all those people?"

"I'm getting kind of freaked out, man."

"Why'd I have to get sent to this creepy-ass podunk town anyway? Can't even call my ma because of the damn Radio Quiet Zone."

For a while, Faulkner takes the bait and lets Moira lead her from post to post so she can yell at her men to get it together. After a couple hours, however, a call comes over all the radios at once. "Oh, Mothman, can you hear me? I know what it is you're trying to do, and it's not going to work any longer. I've sent your scales for testing, and I'm getting bored of this little game. I don't know why you're trying to keep me from Amnesty Lodge, but I will find whatever you're hiding. If you want me to stay away, you're going to have to give me something a little more substantial."

Moira is torn. She doesn't want this woman to go back to the lodge, but she can't keep her away forever. Should she do something to give them more time, or hope it's been long enough? What would she even do? She doesn't want to take any extreme action that will actually hurt anyone or paint Indrid as more threatening than they already see him.

As she's pondering this, the two agents nearest her, huddled close to each other, stare at their walkie talkies. One picks his up in a trembling hand and says, "Hey, Boss, could you not provoke this thing?"

The other leans over to the radio and adds, "Yeah, I don't wanna stick around if you piss this thing off."

"We didn't sign up for no invisible Mothman."

Faulkner laughs over the line. "What are you going to do? Just leave your posts?"

Another voice chimes in. "It's been going after us, not you. If you provoke it, it might just start picking us off."

Moira sees her chance, and she takes it. She leans down and scratches "GET OUT" in the dirt.

The second agent grabs his own radio. "Agent Faulkner, it just told us to get out."

"Don't you dare move from your posts. I will end your careers."

In even larger letters, Moira writes, "FINAL WARNING".

"You know what? Go ahead. Better our jobs than our lives." He elbows his partner and starts to back up, hands raised. The two of them get about thirty feet down the street, and then turn tail and run.

There's a sigh over the line. "Anyone else?"

Two more agents speak up to resign.

The sun is starting to set. If Moira had a heart, it would be pounding with excitement. She follows some distance behind the first pair of agents so she can listen in on their radios, but she doesn't do anything to frighten them further. They've had enough for one day.

"Well, I have to thank you, Mothman, for culling the chaff from my team." There's a slow clap over the airwaves. "I do hope the rest of you have at least some measure more backbone."

There's a chorus of, "Yes, Boss"es, and "Aye, Agent Faulkner"s.

"And by the way," she drawls, "did any of you happen to bring an EMF meter? Faraday, you're a ghost specialist, aren't you? Do you think your equipment would pick up an invisible moth?"

Moira freezes in place.

"Got lotsa different things we could try."

Faulkner's smile is audible. "Do you have enough to outfit our remaining agents?"

"Sure thing, Boss."

It's at about that moment that Moira decides to call it a night. She doesn't need to hear any more, so she floats high enough away that she won't be spotted by any ghost hunters, and back towards Amnesty Lodge.

Well, at least her work wasn't a complete waste.

Pretty fun, too.


	17. Optimism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enemies of our enemy are our friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some cleanup!
> 
> So, if you check the tags, you'll notice I switched from "I try to update daily" to "Updates every other day". I made this tough choice so I could actually work on other things while I write the rest of this story. I'm an artist and musician on top of being a writer, and I've felt like I've had to put those things on hold to crank out daily chapters. This way I can do some drawing, work on my [3D model of Indrid's Winnebago](https://www.instagram.com/p/BunBUTkBJJD/?utm_source=ig_share_sheet&igshid=h5ly01hcdapr), maybe make some music or even write some one-shots outside this continuity. Whatever I choose, I now have the freedom! 
> 
> Plus I can keep working on my mental health and actually keep up with stuff like dishes.
> 
> I also reworked the summary to better reflect what the story's really about, fixed up the first chapter author's note, and made a tiny change to Ch. 9: "Abandonment". Barclay now notices that Indrid seems "somehow even thinner--and taller?--than [he] remembers." Indrid's height (currently a whopping 6'6" in this story, which is only 3 inches under his 'bago's ceiling) will come up later. It's a headcanon I'm really excited about sharing, even though it's just an insignificant detail I thought was neat. 
> 
> Lastly, I deleted the "including our sheriff" bit from Ch. 10: "Revelation". I decided killing Sheriff Zeke offscreen in a throwaway line like that was kinda shitty, and I extra felt bad about it after he was the first Amnesty NPC Griffin listed in TTAZZ as liking. That was some JKR shit, and I'm not about that.

Aubrey is pissed. This should be a good thing. In any other situation, it _would_ be a good thing. A lock-in at Amnesty Lodge with all her friends? Sign her the hell up. Indrid's back? Awesome! He made friends with her girlfriend, who also now happens to be bunking in her room? Holy shit, yes! Hollis and Keith joined the Pine Guard? Wow! Stern actually might be an okay guy? What the hell, but sure! Duck's sitting three feet away, constantly trying not to happy cry over his driver's license? Fuckin' adorable!

Like, this should be great. She should be over-the-moon delighted. There's so much to be happy about, but did it really have to come about because a bom-bom went around killing people and blowing all their secrets and putting all of Sylvain in danger? Like, seriously? And did some scary lady really have to come in and decide to terrorize all the people she cares about and _insult Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD_?

It'd be super nice if, for once in her life, good news was just good news, you know? This whole mixed bag deal is starting to wear her down.

But whatever. Aubrey can deal. She's been dealing so far, and there really is a lot to be happy about. All she's gotta do is concentrate on that, right?

Actually, she should probably be concentrating on Mama, who's trying to figure out how to keep everyone safe.

"Well, at least Duck was smart enough not to try and wear the sword today. Is it here in the lodge?"

"Yeah, Beacon's in my bag."

"Okay, so we're gonna have to figure out what to do with that. Ned, you got that stupid gun here?"

Ned's managed to clean up the coffee, and he's settled down between Aubrey and Duck again with a refill. This time, he listened to Barclay and grabbed a lid. "It's in the truck."

Mama leans on a table, slowly nursing a glass of some kind of alcohol. "So, we gotta figure out how to keep the feds outta the cellar and Ned's truck, make sure they don't find the asshole sword, and somehow get 'em to let the sylphs use the hot springs and let us go down to feed Thacker so nobody just fuckin' dies. Great."

"And we need to get to the emergency rations, which are also in the cellar," Barclay adds. "I have a feeling we shouldn't trust the water or any food the FBI tries to sell us."

"Shit, yeah." Mama takes a much larger sip. "With Tarkesian outta commission, they're probably gonna take over supply, and who knows what they might slip into the food?"

"Amnestics, at the very least," Indrid chirps, from his perch on the arm of the couch by Duck. "Or perhaps something to loosen lips, for those of us who are trapped in here. Does that sound accurate, Rodney?"

Stern just gives an unsettled nod. He's finally wandered out from the back and is still hovering near the arch to the living areas.

Yeah, that's pretty disturbing, but if Aubrey's honest it would have been nice when she was trying to intimidate Keith into silence. And as much as she doesn't want to make the whole town forget things with god-knows-what kind of government experimental medicine, it probably wouldn't be too bad for everyone to forget yesterday's battle, either.

"I'd also prefer if we don't end up in jail," says Hollis.

Mama sets her empty tumbler down and pushes up to stand. "Okay, so that's a lotta shit to try and work out before Fuckner gets back."

Stern's eyes go wide and awestruck. "I can't believe you just called her that."

"Why not? She's gonna play the kindergarten name game with you, we have every right to do it with her."

He stammers and takes the scone Barclay offers him, then uses the act of eating it to chew on this new information.

Dani drops her head back against Dr. Harris Bonkers from her place on the floor between Aubrey's legs. "We know that we need to treat Agent Faulkner as an enemy, but do we actually know that about the others? Or the local police? What if we just got on their good sides? I can't imagine many people are much more fond of Faulkner than we are, and the cops would probably trust locals more than outsiders?" She chuckles. "Even if most of us are a lot more from the outside than the FBI, I suppose. But we do live here."

"So, win 'em over with hospitality?" Barclay grins. "I'd be more than up for trying that."

"Hmm," Stern comes out further into the room. "I think I could get a list of the agents we have on the task force. I doubt I'll know all of them, but I might be able to give us an idea of who might be most susceptible."

"Yeah, do that." Barclay rushes into the kitchen and grabs one of those little order pad things, then leans over the serving counter. "If we're feeding them, they're also not gonna want to eat their own spiked food. That could get us a way in to get the rations, or even some real food we know is safe." He clicks his pen a few times and taps it on his chin.

"Plus, if they've got drugs they're willing to use on us, who's saying we can't do the same?" Ned scratches through his beard. "Worst comes to worst, they find out something they shouldn't or we need to get information out of them, Barclay cooks up something special?"

Barclay grimaces. "Ehhh, I think I'd prefer not to do that, if I can avoid it, but I guess it's not a completely terrible backup plan in a pinch?"

The high little squeal just kind of comes out of Aubrey's throat unbidden. "We could invite them to use the hot springs when they're off duty, if they let you all use them." She leans down and gives Dani a peck on the forehead. "Babe, you're the best. This is the best idea."

Mama is giving it some real consideration, if the set of her brow is any indication. "Yeah, okay, why not? It's the best plan we got so far, and we've already gone and decided to trust Stern and the Hornets."

"What about Beacon?" Duck adds. "Much as I'd love to just leave him in my bag and hope for the best, we should probably still do something with him."

"Ooh! I know!" Aubrey raises a hand. "What if we make Beacon look like something else, like the IDs or my shades prescription?"

Indrid lets out a little hum of surprise. "Beacon is a magical artifact, so I doubt a direct enchantment would work. Changing Duck's identification, for example, was simply a matter of shifting the color of a few dots of ink. To alter Beacon's form entirely would be a much trickier feat. It may require a charm like ours, since he's a sapient being. Plus that would have the added benefit of allowing Duck to easily remove the enchantment and use him for his intended purpose." He leans to look at Aubrey. "What form would you suggest, if we were to go that route?"

"Dummy? Since Ned was saying Duck was a ventriloquist earlier? Plus then it wouldn't look weird if he talked."

" _No_." Duck is backing up into the corner of the couch, face contorted in abject horror. "Aubrey, how the _fuck_ did you manage to come up with literally the only way to make Beacon more disturbin' than 'sword with a goddamn mouth'?"

"Awwww, but Duck! Maybe he'd be happier if he had limbs for once!"

"He'd try and strangle me in my sleep!" He wraps his hands around his own neck in demonstration. "You're not givin' Beacon the ability to reenact _Dead Silence_! No! Just, no!"

"Perhaps something more innocuous, but still capable of producing sound, like a tape recorder?" Indrid suggests.

"Can you make him _not_ be able to talk? That'd be great."

"I'd not want to steal away his ability to communicate. That would be cruel, and we surely don't need him to come out the other side of this more vengeful than he already is."

Duck sighs. "Yeah, okay, fine. I don't wanna be a jerk about it."

Aubrey is practically vibrating in excitement. "Indrid, can I do it?"

He quirks his lips at her, clearly amused. "You want to make a charm for Beacon?"

"Yeah!" She pulls Dr. Harris Bonkers against her chest and cuddles him close. "Teach me how to enchant stuff!"

"I can teach you, Aubrey, but I think perhaps we should start you off with something...less consequential."

She pouts. "Fiiiine. But I'm gonna hold you to that!"

Stern looks to Keith and Hollis, pleading. "Do the two of you understand what's going on?"

Keith snorts. "You don't? Too bad for you."

"Don't tease the man, Keith." Hollis leans to one side. "I know it's magic shit, and honestly I don't care about the details so long as it keeps us from getting killed or arrested."

"If you were fighting alongside the police, they probably don't want to arrest you. If you were responding to a direct threat on your lives, I don't think they even have grounds to do so."

Keith props his elbows up on his knees. "Hey, if you'd be willing to vouch for us, that'd be great."

"I'll do what I can, but since I wasn't actually there you're probably better off getting a statement from people who were."

Mama nods thoughtfully as she takes in this interaction. "Okay, you five," she gestures to Aubrey's group on the couch, "maybe go see if you can get Beacon taken care of."

"All five of us?" Ned asks. "Isn't that overkill?"

"I want y'all to stick together whenever possible. We need to rely on teamwork if we're gonna get through this. Me, Barclay, the stunt crew and Double Agent over there will figure out how to make the lodge as hospitable to the feds as we can get it, and we'll grab Moira when she gets back and hope she's got good news."

"Am I part of the stunt crew?"

"Yes, Jake."

Dani gets up and offers a hand to Aubrey, and Aubrey takes it happily. "Alright! Let's do this!"

Things are starting to tip back in their favor, and she couldn't be happier. Yeah, the overall situation's still kinda shitty, but if they could actually do this then maybe things could turn out even better than they were before. It makes Aubrey feel like some sort of friendship fairy, to think they could turn even more people over to their cause. It's like when Duck chose to rescue Billy it set off a chain reaction where people like Mama and Indrid don't need to keep living in their dark little lonely worlds.

She wants this to work, more than anything. She never wanted to use her magic to fight. She never wanted to treat anyone, including the bom-boms, as monsters that couldn't be helped. She became a magician so she could surprise and delight people and make them happy. If they could do that with the real thing, and bring joy to the people in their lives who need it most, that would be the best magic trick she could possibly imagine.

Does she dare to hope that even Faulkner could change?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the amnestics were an [SCP](http://www.scp-wiki.net/) reference. This won't turn into a SCP AU; just wanted to give a nod to one of my favorite fictional Unexplained Phenomena groups.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have never seen _Dead Silence_. I only watch like one movie every two years. Whoops. It was just the first thing that came up in the Google Search for "haunted ventriloquist dummy movie".


	18. Imprisonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life as a sword sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, sorry to anyone who's subscribed to this story and may have skipped over Chapter 17 because it seemed like I'd just reposted the Moira chapter. I did all this cleanup and updating, and then totally forgot to change the "Latest Installment" description in the summary until after the emails went out. If you haven't read the last chapter with Aubrey's POV, go do so now. You may be a little confused in this one if you don't.
> 
> I big time took advantage of my day off yesterday, and drew a picture of Leo, Faulkner, and Beacon. It's a little spoilery, but only in the sense that it confirms some stuff I hinted about in an earlier chapter. If you're okay with that (and you haven't already seen it on one of the sites I posted it on--I wasn't really sure how to handle that without just not posting the pic until later, so sorry about that), then you can find it [HERE](http://morganeashton.tumblr.com/post/183890698110/atlas-two-we-have-it-all-leo-tarkesian-and-oc). The idea hit me very suddenly and I basically cranked out the whole picture (and the composition and posing for a Duck and Indrid one) in one sitting, and I'm really, really proud of how it came out! And no worries if you imagined Faulkner differently. Like with the podcast, any interpretation of my characters in this story is valid.

One of the greatest injustices in his existence is that Beacon cannot sleep. If he could, he'd swaddle himself in the sweet respite of oblivion, instead of in Duck Newton's sweat-stained undershirts. Perhaps the last twenty years would have been more bearable, if he could have slept through them. Maybe he would have even dreamed.

As it is, he spends most of his time remembering his past, and contemplating possible futures. If he doesn't, then he might think of the present. When he thinks of the present, he is filled with incalculable rage.

He still doesn't understand what Minerva saw in Duck Newton. He knows that she was never really the one who Chose Beacon's masters--that honor belonged to some mysterious force that even he doesn't understand--but she did choose to trust the voice in her head that told her who to contact. It was the same voice that brought her to him in the first place, that saved him from being forgotten forever in the grave of his creator, so for that he supposes he should be grateful. He just wonders if that being--whoever, wherever it may be--might be going a little senile.

It would have been so easy for Duck Newton to fully renounce his title, even to just return it to Leo Tarkesian. After all, the ranger is now older than his predecessor was at retirement. For Beacon to go directly from besting a fire beast with one master to being locked in a glass case for two decades by the next was a real downgrade. All it would have taken to right that wrong would have been for Minerva to tell Duck Newton to formally pass on ownership. Now she's gone, or maybe even dead, and Beacon almost wishes he were more upset about it than he is.

He and Minerva were never friends. He hasn't had one of those since his fourth master, the one who died to the mirror-walker abomination. (It wasn't even that strong. Why'd he get so attached to someone so _weak_?) But Minerva was a skilled warrior and a competent leader, enough so that when she ran out of people to lead on her world she wasn't afraid to take the helm from halfway across the universe. He respected her, nearly unconditionally, until Duck Newton came along.

Twenty-six years of being left high and dry in some slob's back room has a way of changing things.

A door opens. There's speaking, a zip, and then light. A hand closes around Beacon's hilt and pulls him from the bag. Duck Newton's face is more intolerable than usual today.

There are four other people in the room: The other two Pine Guard members, that girl Aubrey Little is fond of, and, upsettingly, the sylph who was the reason for Beacon's current damaged state. Apparently fate really does hate him. "What is the purpose of this congregation of idiots, Duck Newton?"

"We're gonna try and make you a disguise, so you don't end up in an evidence lockbox."

Beacon unfurls with a sneer. "Oh, isn't that delightful? As if being forced into every dark corner of your habitat, or being worn like some kind of ill-advised accessory weren't indignity enough."

Aubrey Little leans in. "Aw, don't be like that. We were talking on the way in and we thought you might like to have some input into what you'll look like."

"I doubt I can give you a full body," adds the moth. "I borrowed Barclay's crystal, which should afford us some extra flexibility, but I won't be able to add too many extra moving parts."

"I would prefer if you just fixed the injury caused by your utter ineptitude."

"Hey," says Duck Newton. "I'm the one who got you dinged up. Indrid's trying to help you."

"Oh, believe me when I say you are by no means absolved from blame, Duck Newton. I have plenty of hatred to go around." He curves his blade to point at the sylph. "But he was imbecilic enough to get captured in the first place."

"Hate me all you want," says the moth lightly, "but that doesn't change the fact that I am going to cast an enchantment on you that alters your appearance. If you want input into what that appearance will be, I suggest you provide us with some options." His lips quirk upwards.

"Patience, insect." He turns on his owner. "Did Minerva ever tell you what I am, Duck Newton?"

He manages to come across as even more vacuous than usual. "Uh, she never said much 'a anything about you, really. But you've given me the spiel."

"Yes. I am the most beautiful, terrible weapon ever crafted, but," he continues, more vehemently, "it was not always so!"

"You weren't a weapon, or you weren't beautiful?" snickers Ned Chicane.

"My name is Beacon. I am the light that stands at the edge of the darkness, I am the tower above the fog! This at one point was literal."

Aubrey Little looks taken aback. "You were something before you were a sword?"

"I was a god! And now because of you, Duck Newton, and your pet bug over there, I am nothing more than a piece of talking scrap metal!"

Aubrey Little's little friend rubs her back and speaks. "You know, if you were a little nicer to people, you'd be treated better, too."

"Don't patronize me, beast. I have been a sword for over a thousand years. I am long past done with _nice_." He bares his teeth at the girl. "And there is no form that you all could give me that would be adequate."

Duck Newton holds him laid across both hands. "Let's just make you look like a normal belt, okay? Then I can wear you around again and you won't have to be shoved in my bag. You could have a mouth made of stitching, or it could be on a buckle?"

"And how long would I be a belt, Duck Newton?"

"Indrid's gonna make a charm for you, so I can turn you back into a sword any time."

Beacon considers it. "Fine. I suppose it could be worse."

The moth nods. "Does anyone have a hair elastic I can take? I think that might be the easiest thing to use."

The Sylvan girl pulls hers out of her long hair and hands it over. In a few short minutes, the band is being secured over Beacon's hilt, and he transforms.

Ned Chicane and Aubrey Little both instantly fall into hysterics.

"Oh, jeez, Indrid, really?" Duck Newton looks like he can't decide whether to laugh or scold.

"He called me 'insect'. Do you like it, Duck?"

Laughter seems to win out, with a snort. "Yeah, I love it."

"What did it do to me?" Beacon deadpans.

The ranger ignores him and wraps the belt around his waist, through the loops for once without causing them to be sliced open, and fastens it. He hides the hair elastic under the edge of the buckle. "How do I look?"

The blonde has caught on to whatever joke is happening at Beacon's expense, and is now giggling. It's a grating sound. "That's kind of perfect."

The moth looks far too smug.

Beacon speaks slowly and intentionally. "Show me what it did to me."

"Fine, fine." Duck Newton walks across the room and stands in front of the mirror.

The belt lets out a long, drawn-out fascimile of an exhale. The mouth of Smokey the Bear moves with him. "Yes, of course. I am now Beacon, preventer of forest fires. Why didn't I see _this_ one coming?"

The peals of laughter had begun to die down. No longer.

Once, long ago, Beacon resided on a planet halfway across the universe. There, he lived within a structure that focused his light high into the sky. That light drew in the planet's insectoid inhabitants like moths to a flame, and when they grew close enough he would reach out tendrils of his power to devour them.

Then a being came and destroyed his home and stole him away to their world. That being, hungry with bloodlust, forged Beacon into a weapon they could control, and in doing so ensured their own doom. Without Beacon, the insects ran rampant, multiplied wildly, and soon overpopulated. Then they spread to the blacksmith's world, as well. Without Beacon, all but Minerva perished, and it was only with him that she lived long enough to achieve her victory.

Yet these maggots are treating him as a laughingstock.

Minerva is gone, and Beacon will no longer succumb to others' Choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually didn't know what form Beacon was gonna end up with until Indrid did it. I'm so glad he did. "I am now Beacon, preventer of forest fires," is one of my favorite lines I've ever written. XD ~~Technically, Beacon, your last fight with Leo literally involved preventing a forest fire.~~ Sorry I followed that up with such a dark turn. As always, keep in mind that I'm not going to let things go super bleak or gritty. This will have payoff. The next POV character has already spoken up, so in two days we'll be going back to Sylvain to visit Alexandra the Interpreter.
> 
> And yes, I am talking as if the characters have minds of their own. It really feels like they do, sometimes. I swear I channel more than write, half the time. I've been wanting to write Beacon since Chapter 4, but he hasn't cooperated until now (and I'm glad of that, because the first time I tried to write him was awful and would have taken the story in a much blander direction).


	19. Supplication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memories of Sylvain, and the hopes of a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one legitimately has me shook. I honestly had no idea where this was going until I sat down to write it and...it's a doozy. Just a warning that this is probably the most emotionally rough chapter thus far.
> 
> I did some writing yesterday, too, and started two shorter Indruck stories. They _should_ be one-shots, but I can't say for sure. The first of those should be out soon. It's MUCH lighter than this chapter in tone, so I'm looking forward to getting back to that.

Alexandra sits on the observation deck, her legs dangling between the bars, and she listens. The Heart of Sylvain speaks only in memories that are trapped within the crystal, memories that are dwindling with each passing day.

Today, the ones that come forward are of Seer Cold.

He sits beside her, papers scattered over the platform. For a brief moment the crystal before her is glowing a bright orange, almost red at the center, pulsing with life in a way she has never known it. The light it casts remains as that vision fades, drowning out the glow of Cold's eyes and glinting off his scales. He turns his face upwards, two hands raised in deference as the others push forward the largest of the drawings, and he asks, "What do I do?"

Alexandra hears the response that she knows he will not. "You don't," it says.

"I know it's not my purpose to understand you, but Interpreter Priam won't listen to me. He won't tell me what you've said."

She recoils at the mention of her father's name, and almost misses what comes next.

"Nobody's listening to me. Everyone says it's impossible for humans to destroy you when they don't even have magic. But I've seen it. I've seen it happen infinite different ways, all with the same outcome. I have seen no futures where this doesn't come to pass, and I just want to understand why you've given me these powers if I can't do anything to stop it."

The voice of Sylvain is gentle, patient. "You will understand one day, my child. I know as well as you do what is coming. I know the inevitability of this fate, and I am ready."

His voice overlaps with the planet's words. "What is the purpose of seeing, if I can't do anything to help? Woodbridge is d--" his voice cracks out, and he pauses and bows his head. "His was just one life. If I can't save you...."

"I don't need saving. The purpose of seeing is not to change, but to accept. One day. One day, my child, we will be reunited and you will know."

"Please. Please tell me why. Please help me to fix this...."

Alexandra doesn't realize she's crying until the memory has long since faded away.

\--------

She's curled up in Janelle's office with three blankets and a mug of warm tea. She's been frigid for hours, and she can't seem to warm back up no matter what she does.

Janelle doesn't pry. She's too busy for that, so her policy is to let other people come to her if and when they're ready to talk. So instead of asking Alexandra what's wrong, she's set her up in a comfy corner and gone right back to her research.

Alexandra wishes she'd poke her nose in, just this once, because she's not really sure how to start this conversation. The thing is, she gets how the seer felt. She understands what it's like to wish Sylvain would answer her, give her some guidance, maybe tell her that everything is going to be okay. Instead, she just gets visions of the past, without context or explanation. Unlike Seer Cold in the memory, though, she knows how alone she truly is. She learned that after her father died and she spent hours screaming at the heart asking why, why, why, while it showed her a lifetime's worth of things she never knew about him when he was alive.

If Sylvain knew the humans were going to destroy her, and she just accepted it without fighting, wasn't that as good as abandonment? And what about that reunion she'd promised the seer? Did that mean that she'd come back some day? Would Alexandra ever actually get to meet the being she's supposed to be interpreting? Would their world survive long enough? Could their planet actually be saved?

There's a hand on her shoulder. Janelle sits down beside her. "Hey."

Alexandra's sniffles turn to outright sobs. She thought she was being quiet.

"This was a bad one, huh?"

She nods, wiping fitfully at her eyes.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Janelle accepts Alexandra into her warmth, lets her keen as she bundles her up in her arms. She holds her and pets her hair, and hands her a handkerchief when snot starts dripping on her scarves.

It's the question that she wants least to know the answer to, that she asks first. "Did my dad really not listen, when Seer Cold told him the heart was going to be destroyed?"

Janelle averts her gaze, staring off into the hearth. "None of us did. It was too much for any of us to accept, and when we asked him what he'd have us do about it, well. We couldn't accept that, either."

"Too much? What about now? Isn't this worse?"

She takes a shallow, shaking breath. "You have to understand, Alexandra, that your father--we didn't always know his motivations. He cared deeply, about Sylvain, and about Indrid. It wasn't cruelty, or neglect that caused him to turn down Indrid's pleas. He knew things that none of us did, things he took to his grave in hopes that we would never have to bear their burden." She wraps her arms more tightly around Alexandra. "I'm so sorry that there's still such a weight on you."

"Janelle, the things I've seen--could it have actually been Sylvain's will that we go through this suffering?" She doesn't know why she's asking that question, when she's supposed to be the one with the answer.

"I don't know, darling." She sighs deeply. "All I know is what I saw."

"And what was that?" Her voice sounds hollow, even to her own ears.

"I saw Indrid, desperate and broken, telling us that if we would just listen to him, maybe we could change the futures. He wanted us to tell everyone to arm themselves against the invasion, or to break the gate, or--" She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "To shatter the heart ourselves, and take Sylvain far away where the humans would never find her."

Her mouth is dry. "And Father?"

"He had Indrid locked in his room, until after the attack. He told us we absolutely couldn't tell the public about the seer's visions, and to treat them as if they were nonsense." Janelle leans her lips against Alexandra's hair. "When the humans came, he didn't seem surprised. He told the guards not to fight, and to just let them take what they came for. Most of the ones who didn't listen were killed."

"He knew."

"I think so, yes. I think he was trying to prevent as much bloodshed as he could."

Alexandra sits and looks at her. "Who do you think was right?"

"I don't know. Woodbridge was firmly on Interpreter Priam's side. Defense Minister Yu was on Indrid's."

Yu died in the attack.

"I was...afraid. Too afraid to make a decision, either way, so I searched desperately for a third option, while trying to ignore Indrid's screams."

Alexandra bows her head and drinks the rest of her tea. "Thank you for telling me, and not treating me like a child."

Janelle laughs dully. "I wish I could treat you as a child. I wish fate had let you be one."

"Well, it didn't." She sets the teacup back on its tray. She folds the handkerchief. "Where should I put this?"

"You can just set it down by your cup."

She does. "Goodnight, Janelle." She gets up, and she leaves.

\--------

Alexandra sits on the observation deck, her legs dangling between the bars, and she listens.

Seer Cold is standing this time, one pair of hands on the railing and the other wrapped tightly around his thorax. He wears a piece of the heart around his neck. "I'm leaving now. I couldn't save you, but I will bring you home."

The response is another memory. In it, a cocoon is wrapped in a soft, red-orange light. The glow almost looks like hands. A gentle voice says, "I believe in you. You're going to be amazing."

Alexandra is shaken from the vision by something landing on the ground behind her.

It's a piece of the crystal.

\--------

She's never been to the gate, but her feet carry her as if she's been making the trip all her life. She knows, somehow, that nobody will disturb her on the way, and nobody does. When she arrives, something distracts the guards for just long enough for her to run between them unseen.

Light fills the stone just as she reaches it, and disappears as soon as she's through.

Earth is cold, and dark. The trees and the moon are as familiar as they are foreign. Her feet move on their own once again, effortlessly over branches and roots. Somehow, impossibly, she is not afraid.

She steps out the other side of the forest, and whatever power was guiding her melts away.

A human woman stops in her conversation with two men, and turns to Alexandra. Something flashes over her face, then she raises a prim eyebrow and comes over. "Hello, little girl. What are you doing out here, and so late in the evening?"

Alexandra has no disguise, and yet this woman doesn't fear her? The two men don't seem so calm as they back away cautiously. "Who are you?"

The woman kneels before her. "My name is Loryn. What's yours?"

"Alexandra."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Alexandra. Do you have a home to get back to?"

She shakes her head.

"Oh, how awful. We can't have that. Come with me, and I'll take care of you." She offers a hand.

Alexandra doesn't trust her, but she wants to know why she is here. She takes the hand.

As Loryn leads her into a strange town with odd, too-uniform buildings, she picks up a device and presses a button on the side. "Oh, Mothman?" she says sweetly. "Lucky break."


	20. Parley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I spent the last two days (Friday and Saturday) trying and failing horribly to write. I thought after the last chapter that I needed to move away from Alexandra and Faulkner, and check on people at Amnesty Lodge. I was wrong. As it goes when I try to write a POV character out of turn, I can't get into flow and everything turns to shit. That happened with both this story and my Indruck one-shot, until this morning when I asked who I was supposed to be writing for, and Faulkner came forward. That's what I get for second-guessing myself. So I spent most of today cranking out this 2,500 word chapter. Sorry I'm late. I'm planning on getting the next installment out tomorrow to get back on track, and I know who the next 3 POVs are going to be! (They should be Jake Coolice, Indrid, and Woodbridge, in that order, assuming my instincts aren't skewed again. I'm REALLY excited about the Indrid chapter. Can you believe he hasn't been the POV character since Chapter 6?)
> 
> CW for brief talk of a fictionalized event in an IRL war in the first paragraph.

Agent Faulkner has done a lot of dangerous things in her life, and it's been through her greatest risks that she's gained the greatest benefits. In her years as an Army MP, she earned a reputation for doing the dirty work that nobody else wanted to touch. During Operation Desert Storm, quelling the POW revolt that killed eight of her colleagues and injured twelve more won her the Medal of Honor. Her interrogation of the rebels afterward netted the American troops valuable intel that she suspects saved hundreds.

She refuses to fear a child, even one with sharp teeth and glowing eyes. There is too much she could gain.

She tells the guards at Amnesty Lodge that she won't be back tonight, then heads to the base camp. She has her men get a chair for Alexandra, then kneels in front of the girl once more. Her first order of business is to establish a baseline for how much caution is actually required. "Are you hungry, dear?"

The girl shakes her head, holding herself around the stomach.

"How about thirsty?"

She starts to shake her head again, then stops and looks at Faulkner warily. "A little."

"Alright. What do you like to drink?" She keeps her voice light and gentle.

"I like tea? Juice. Water is okay." Interestingly mundane answers.

She smiles. "I like tea, as well." She doesn't, really. She's more of a coffee drinker. "Do you take it with sugar or milk?"

"Uhm, both please."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like anything else?" she presses again. "Do you normally have anything with your tea?"

Alexandra doesn't answer right away, eyes searching Faulkner's face. Her gaze is piercing, intelligent, wise beyond her years. That will make things fun. "I'll take whatever you're having."

"Very well. Hold on just a moment." She gets up and finds Jericho. He's far enough away that the girl shouldn't be able to overhear anything, but Faulkner keeps her voice low regardless. "Do you think you could manage some tea, milk, sugar, and perhaps some cookies? Let's say chocolate chip. Those go well with tea, yes?"

"Yes, Boss. Right away." He salutes. "Should I add anything to it?"

"No, I want it pure. I don't know how the drugs would react with her physiology, and I want her to trust me. I need her mind clear, and nothing out of the ordinary that she could use as motivation to retaliate."

"Sure thing, Boss."

She returns to the girl and pulls up a table and chair. "My friend Mr. Jericho over there will be bringing us our tea and cookies soon."

Alexandra just nods, her legs swinging just a little with nervous energy.

"So, are you from around here, Alexandra?"

She considers the question, and answers, "Kind of."

"Where are you from?"

"I don't want to answer that."

Faulkner feels the corners of her mouth quirk upwards. "Because I'm a stranger?"

She nods.

"Smart girl."

Alexandra actually seems surprised at that. "What about you? Where are you from?"

"Many different places, but I lived the longest in New York City." It's true, and it gives her the perfect opportunity to check something. "Have you ever heard of it?"

"No. Where is it?" Even a child should have heard of NYC. It's not concrete evidence, of course, but it indicates that Alexandra probably hasn't been here long. That matches the bewildered look the girl had when she arrived.

"It's a ways North of here. Do you know where here is?"

"This is Kepler, right?" Fascinating. She knows where she _should_ be, but not definitively.

"Yes, it is. Very good." She notices her agent heading over, and grins. "Ah, here we are. Thank you, Jericho."

He sets the tray down, then salutes Faulkner and gives Alexandra a stiff nod. It's a simple setup: Cordless electric kettle, metal mugs, a single-serve bottle of milk and a handful of sugar packets. The cookies are still in their container. It'll do.

Faulkner pours both their cups. "Should I add your milk and sugar, or do you want to do it?"

"I can do it." She seems puzzled by the safety seal on the milk and intrigued by the sugar packets, but she figures it out quickly enough. She takes the spoon closest to Faulkner and stirs. "I want you to try it first."

She doesn't add anything to hers, but smirks and takes a sip.

"Of mine." She holds out her cup.

Her smirk grows. "I like you already, Alexandra." She takes the girl's tea and sips it, then swishes it around audibly so it's obvious she's actually taken some before she swallows. "Too sweet for my taste, but that's alright."

She takes her cup back and watches for a few moments before she drinks.

"You must be important."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, most children your age wouldn't think to check for poison. That is what you were doing, yes?" Faulkner settles fully into her chair.

"Yes, it was."

"So, either you're important and you've been trained to be cautious, or you've had very paranoid caretakers. Am I right?"

Alexandra raises her brows. "One of those, yes."

She laughs, and wags a finger. "Ah. You're a politician, aren't you? You know to look for loopholes."

The girl sits straighter, frowning. "Why am I here? You should be afraid of me. I can tell the others are. I know you didn't bring me here because you thought I was just a lost child who needed help. You want something from me."

Faulkner takes another sip of tea, then opens the cookies and offers them. "Don't worry. They were sealed during the manufacturing process. We had no way of adding anything to them. But if you want me to eat one first, I will."

"I don't want any. I want you to answer my question."

"Very well." She dips a cookie in her tea and takes a bite, thinking as she chews. "You're right, Alexandra. You see, I work with an organization that studies things that are seen as strange or mysterious. You appear to be one of those things. I want to know what kind of being you are, and what you're doing here in Kepler."

The girl's brows furrow. She looks at the cookies, then back at Faulkner's face, then at the cookies again. She snatches one as if she's trying to be sneaky. "Why should I tell you? I have absolutely no reason to trust you."

"Fine. How about I tell you why I'm here?"

"What do you have to gain by doing that?"

She sets her drink and snack down, and leans forward onto the table. "That is yet to be seen, but I don't think I have anything to lose." She steeples her hands and rests her chin on her index fingers. "I'm here looking for a creature that we call the Mothman. Would you know anything about that?"

Her eyes widen. "I heard you say that earlier. What do you want with him?"

"Him?" She tilts her head. "So you're familiar."

"I--" She nibbles the cookie. "I'm looking for a man who is a moth. I don't know if he's the same one."

She suspects it probably is. "So we have the same goal."

"I don't know about that. You didn't tell me what you want with him."

Faulkner takes a moment to think of how she wants to approach this. She doesn't want to offend the girl, or make her suspicious. "I just want to know why he's here."

"I know the answer to that, but I still don't have any reason to tell you."

"You're a very good negotiator, Alexandra. I admit, it's not often I'm impressed by others." She relaxes back into her chair. "What would be motivation enough for you to share?"

"This isn't a negotiation. I will only tell you if I think you truly deserve to know."

"Hm." She chuckles. "Well, surely you want something from me? Perhaps we could trade information."

"All that I want, Loryn, is to know that you don't pose a danger to my people."

She leans on one hand. "Well, I'd like to know the same about you."

Her shoulders are tense. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Would you, if it came down to it?"

She looks up, weary and sad. "I don't know. Would you?"

"Yes. Without hesitation. I don't see any use denying it." She can tell the girl is too smart to buy an outright lie, after all. "But if you don't threaten me, I won't hurt you or your people."

Alexandra seems shocked for a moment, but gives the response some thought. "That's more honest than I expected." She looks down to the side, bottom lip tucked into her mouth. "I'll tell you why I'm here."

"I appreciate that." Faulkner nods for her to go on.

"I saw S--the Mothman, earlier, in a sort of...I guess you could call it a dream." She seems to be weighing her words carefully. "It was troubling, and I can't explain how but I knew it was true. Something told me that I need to talk to him, but instead I was brought to you. I want to know why."

Faulkner has never quite believed in fate, but she's had enough serendipity in her life to know that things come together in mysterious ways. With a strange being like Alexandra, this meeting could have very well happened for a reason. If so, perhaps it can benefit them both. "Well, I've seen some troubling things when it comes to him, as well. Assuming we truly are speaking of the same Mothman, perhaps we could look for him together. I'd also like to talk with him."

"Will you hurt him?"

"Once again, that depends on whether he poses a threat. If he is willing to speak without doing anything rash, then so am I." Granted, she already has quite a lot of evidence that says it's dangerous, but she doesn't need to tell Alexandra that. Perhaps with the girl there she can get some information out of the creature before she's forced to disable it. "We can search together, but not tonight. It's getting late. You seem tired and I'm sure we could both use some real food. We'll begin in the morning. I have some people I'd like you to meet, if you'd be willing to come with me. Shall we shake on it?" She holds out a hand across the table, curious as to whether this child will understand the gesture.

Alexandra does pause, but it doesn't seem to be from confusion. After a beat, she reaches across and shakes, surprisingly firmly. "Please don't make me regret this."

Faulkner grins. "No, I think we're going to make a great team."

\--------

About an hour later, after a surprisingly normal but quiet dinner, she has set Alexandra up in a tent and left her under the watchful guard of a couple of the more stable agents. They have orders to treat her as an honored guest, under the assumption that she's a foreign dignitary.

Now, a visit.

Faulkner gets the impression that St. Francis Medical Center isn't normally this busy. She at least hopes the staff isn't always this harried and overwhelmed. She'd definitely not trust them to treat her, if that were the case. It is a moot point, though. She has her own medics. She stops in front of the front desk and flashes her badge. "Hello. I'm FBI Special Agent Faulkner, and I am here to see Leonard Tarkesian."

"Is this a personal visit, or business?" drones the exhausted-looking girl before her.

"A little of both. Mr. Tarkesian is a person of interest in my case, but he's also an old friend."

"Okay, let me check to see if you're cleared to go in." She makes a call, and then waves Faulkner through to the back. "Room 118, left hallway."

It's easy enough to find. "Oh, good, you're awake. I brought flowers." She sets the vase on the end table and pulls up a stool.

Leo's face goes through a litany of emotions, before settling on something resembling astonishment. "Loryn. I saw your announcement on the news. Didn't think you'd actually drop by."

"Well, your friend Ranger Newton did file a police report that said you were attacked by a bear. Or perhaps a cougar. Maybe a rogue pack of coyotes? It wasn't really clear." She chuckles. "The Detective I spoke with seemed to think the ranger was hiding something, and then, lo and behold, he turned up allegedly fighting monsters in the middle of town. Fancy that."

"Damnit, Duck." Leo leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. "Is that really why you're here?"

She softens a bit, though it's not on purpose. "No, of course not."

"Well," Leo grouses, grumpy as ever, "I'd say I'm glad to see you, but I'm not so sure that's true."

She snorts. "You know it's been over twenty years?"

"Oh, I know. Believe me."

"Did you ever miss me?"

It's his turn to laugh, though he cuts it short as it aggravates an injury. "Yeah, sometimes, when things got bad. Then I remembered how you treated me, and I realized I'd rather have my current problems than ever go back to that."

How _dare_ he. "How I treated you? Maybe if you hadn't kept all those secrets--"

"I wouldn't have had to keep so much from you, if you'd ever cared about anyone as much as you cared about your job."

"Job?" She scowls. "That just proves you don't understand, Leo." She stands and paces the foot of the bed. "It's not a job. It's a career. It's a _calling_. I have spent the past 38 years trying to save lives, and succeeding. I'm not going to put that aside just because some selfish man wants more attention."

Leo's blood pressure and heart readings are both rising steadily. "Right, I'm selfish. That's rich." He puts his hands over his face and takes a few deep breaths. "I never wanted you to quit, Loryn. I just wanted to be treated like I actually mattered to you."

She looks down at him, utterly aghast. "You did. Do you really think I would have stayed with you for almost two years if you didn't?"

He clenches the fist that isn't full of IVs. "I was great once, too, Loryn. I was doing so much more than you ever knew, but I couldn't tell you. D'you know why? You wouldn't have been proud of me; you would have been threatened. You dated me because I made you feel special. If you had known the truth..." He shakes his head.

The laughter starts out quiet, disbelieving, but it grows and expands until she can't stop. "Me? Threatened by you? And what do you have to show for all your greatness? A grocery store in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?"

"Get out. Before I call the nurse and have you booted from this hospital." His voice is as cold as ice. "And you'd better not hurt Duck or his friends, or so help me God."

She stops on the way out to give him one last look. "I loved you once. I don't know what I was thinking."

She's halfway through the parking lot before she registers the shivering, and the tears trying to escape her eyes.

It's not sadness. It's anger.

It has to be anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've known that scene with Leo was coming since before Faulkner was ever introduced, so it's been in the works a long time. Feels great to finally get to it. How many red flags of narcissistic abuse can YOU spot?


	21. Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of survivor's guilt.

Jake loves Amnesty Lodge. It's been his home longer than Sylvain was, and the humans and sylphs who live there are more his family than his blood family ever were. He suspects he says "Mama" a lot more literally than most of the others do.

But right now, it's February and the snow is starting to melt. There are only a few weeks left where he'll be able to take advantage of the weather, and even then only on certain parts of Mount Kepler. Now's a really, really bad time to be locked inside. Yeah, he'll still be able to do skateboard and BMX when Spring comes around, but he's Jake _Coolice_ for a reason. He's not Jake Radconcrete, for sheesh sakes.

He knows this should be the least of his worries. He _knows_ , but really? He's having trouble dealing with the other stuff, especially with Keith here. It's not that he hates Keith or anything. They never really got along, but that's not the problem. The problem is that Keith isn't even trying to be mean to him right now. If Keith was making fun of him, then Hollis would step in to chew him out, and Jake kinda likes the way that makes him feel even though he doesn't like the teasing itself.

Instead, Keith is sad. Even worse, he's trying to act like he isn't.

Darren was a great guy.

They all were.

Jake doesn't really feel like he has the right to cry, not when Keith and Hollis haven't shed a tear. Keith's too proud and Hollis is too cool, and it makes Jake feel like even more of a baby than he did when he quit Kepler Stunt Club. And it's worse, knowing Keith and Hollis and the other Hornets were all out there fighting alongside the Pine Guard while he was ignoring all of it and just trying to keep his board polished and his tricks sharp.

And still, all he wants is to go out and snowboard before it's too late.

"Nobody hates Jake Coolice," Mama and Barclay like to say. He knows it isn't true. He knows they just say that because they want him to be happy and carefree and innocent forever.

His approximate twenty-third birthday is coming in a few months. He wishes it wouldn't. Growing up is hard.

\--------

Agent Stern and Moira both have good news. The agents who were guarding the lodge have both quit, and they've been replaced by Ulrich and Albright. According to Stern, they're two of the nicest people in all of UP, and two of the only ones who are friendly with Stern himself. The night shift is gonna be the Erving brothers. Stern doesn't know them well because he's always been a morning person and they're the opposite. He says all he knows is they've always seemed kind of stoic and rules-driven, which might not be so great.

Still, having the day crew on their side is an awesome stroke of luck. Stern invites them in for a late dinner, once their shift ends. Jake's nervous, but maybe if they're nice then everyone won't be trapped inside all day tomorrow.

The agents bring better news when they come in. Ulrich stretches his arms upwards, all his joints popping as he does, and Albright sinks into an armchair with a sigh. Then they both confirm that Agent Faulkner's off doing something else and won't return tonight.

Jake feels like he could collapse, he's so relieved. Sure, she'll be back tomorrow, but by then they'll have gotten a good night's sleep and maybe even a dip in the hot springs.

Hollis turns to him. "Jake, do you want to go tell the others?"

"That's a good idea," Mama adds. "You can let 'em know they can relax for tonight, and bring 'em their food."

"It'll be about five minutes!" comes Barclay's voice from the kitchen.

Jake gives a tired smile and gets up to find the others. They should still be in Duck's room, so he checks the logs to jog his memory of which one that is, and goes into the back.

"Come in!" Duck says in response to the knock, and "Hey, Jake," when he sees who it is.

The others greet him excitedly. "Look at Duck's new belt!" Aubrey squeals through her laughter.

He looks.

"Yes, that's just lovely," drones the belt. "Invite yet another ingrate to ogle at my misfortune.

"Whoa!" Jake comes in closer. "Is that Beacon?"

Something sweeps past his feet. Indrid rushes after it out of the room.

Everyone stops and stares.

"Aw, shit!" Duck runs out at the sound of hissing and screeching. His voice is much more distant when he curses, "Damnit, sorry! Sorry! Ow, Maple. Ow, fuck! Stop! Calm down, girl, Jesus!"

Jake is cringing when Duck returns. "Sorry, dude! I forgot you had your cat here."

"It's okay, ow." He sets her down when Indrid shuts the door behind him, and she makes a beeline under the bed.

It doesn't really feel okay. He was so excited to tell the good news and so distracted by Beacon that he got his friends hurt. It's just little scratches by the look of it, but still. "Uh, I've got some radical news?"

"Do tell, friend Jake. I'd say we could all use some good news today." Ned is the only one who didn't get up at the commotion. He did, however, lift his legs up onto the bed so they didn't get caught in the cat's escape path.

"So, you know that wicked uncool Faulkner lady?" He shakes his head at himself, because what kinda stupid question was that? "Yeah, 'course you do, uh. So, she's not comin' back tonight."

The reaction isn't nearly as happy as it should be. Dani's the first to respond. "Was it because of Moira?"

"Well, Moira got four agents to quit, so that's sweet. But we don't actually know what's up with Faulkner. She was supposed to be headin' back, then just...didn't?"

"Who cares why?" Aubrey asks. "I'm just glad we don't have to deal with her right now."

Duck rubs the back of his neck. "I dunno, Aubrey. Ain't it a little worryin' that she just got distracted outta nowhere like that? Doesn't really sound like her MO."

"Aw, you worry too much!"

Indrid sits by Ned, eyes downcast and a fist against his mouth.

Jake needs to lighten the mood. "Barclay says food's about ready. Want me to bring it in?"

"I could sure use a good meal," Ned stands and rolls his shoulders, "but if we're done for the night, I think I'll take it in my own room, if that's okay."

"Yeah, sure thing, man." He checks to make sure he remembers what room that is.

Dani and Aubrey decide to to get back to Dr. Harris Bonkers in Aubrey's room, since they dropped him off so he didn't terrorize Maple. Indrid seems so distracted that Duck just tells Jake to bring his food here.

He heads out and straight into the kitchen. Everyone in the Lobby is talking with the two agents, and while Jake would normally be stoked to be involved, he doesn't really have the spoons for it right now. This is familiar, though, and that's good. It's nice to just lose himself in familiar tasks and help that way. After he's gone around delivering meals, he distracts himself sweeping the halls and watering the potted plants.

Mama is hovering near the entrance to the guest wings, watching him with an unreadable expression. She sighs and comes over when she realizes she's been caught. "Hey, Jake, how're you holdin' up kiddo?"

His everything slumps. "Not so great, Mama."

"Y'know you don't really need to do all that tonight, yeah? There ain't nobody stayin' here who's gonna judge if we let the place get a little messy."

"Well, the plants aren't gonna water themselves, and they gotta...." he just trails off, sorta forgetting where he was going with that.

Mama drags him into a tight embrace. "You get some rest, y'hear? You've had a real rough week, and all this FBI shit's just the cherry on top. You don't need to be dealin' with all that."

He buries his face in her shoulder and finally lets himself cry.

"There, there, let it all out."

"I hate this, Mama," he says through his sniffles. "Everyone else is doing something important. What am I doing?"

"Jake Coolice, do not think like that."

"But what about Darren, and Percy, and Shonice, and--and Ch...Cha...." He can't even say all their names. "I haven't hung with them in years, and now I _can't_. Never again."

"Shhh, it's okay. Come on." She guides him to his room and sits down with him on his bed.

He's even more of a baby, the way he lies down with his head in her lap and bawls. He wants to ask if she hates him, except he already knows what she'd say. 

"Nobody hates Jake Coolice"? Well, what about Jake, himself?

But with Mama's hand carding through his hair, and her enduring strength and warmth all around him, Jake can believe that she truly thinks that. He knows she loves him, even if he doesn't always understand why. He matters to her, for whatever reason, and he clings to her and to that and to any shred of hope he can find.

And he mourns. He mourns for the fallen. He mourns for the ones who are still alive, but who won't cry for their own pain. He mourns for the fear all his friends are feeling. He mourns for the melting snow. He mourns for himself.

He mourns until there's nothing left in him to cry, and then he tells his Mama he loves her, and he thanks her and hugs her and goes to bed.

And he dreams of brighter days to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story's been such a growth experience for me. I've been keeping such a quick pace for updates because it's forcing me to keep writing through the rough patches. I'm trying to teach myself resilience, and to learn how to access the creative force at will instead of waiting for inspiration to hit. This chapter was hard. I had a lot of trouble getting into Jake's head, and it took until this morning to really find what the theme was, but I did it! And...well, it turned into a much more heartfelt installment than I expected going in. I'm proud of myself for pushing through even though I didn't get this up as early as I wanted. 
> 
> So, I just want to say to anyone who might be struggling right now: Be kind to yourself. It's okay to have a hard time. It's okay to be proud of getting things done, even if you're not sure it's your best work, and it's also okay if you feel like you're not doing enough. There are still people who love you and value your presence and your contributions. You matter, whoever you are. Even if you don't think you have anyone else, know you still matter to me.
> 
> Love you all. ♥


	22. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're far from perfect, but maybe (just maybe) they could be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember I said I was excited for this one? Yeah, it's over a full normal chapter's length longer than the second-longest installment. (That, incidentally, was chapter 11 and another Duck and Indrid chapter. That's so appropriate, given my attraction to sets of repeating numbers like 11 and 22.) I wrote it all between last night and today, and I had such a blast with it. Happy to be getting such a big one out to you all before the next Amnesty ep drops tomorrow. I'll see you again on Friday with the Woodbridge chapter.
> 
> There's some heavy stuff in this one, but the overall vibe is a lot more hopeful and fun than the past few have been. Indrid and Duck are just both broken boys, so they spiral sometimes. This one lays a lot of groundwork for where things are headed between them, and also reveals a few of my personal headcanons.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! ♥

Indrid comes back to himself at the hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, partner. Food's here." Duck sits beside him with a tray, then hands over a plate and drink.

He looks around to find that everyone else has left. "Oh, ah." He peers at the food in his lap, at Duck's face, at Beacon curled silently around the ranger's hips. "I'm sorry, Duck. Should I go?"

"Nah, you don't gotta." He takes a bite, thoughtful. "D'you wanna talk about it?"

"I haven't--I didn't think I could still lose myself in my thoughts like that."

"Without your powers?"

He nods and eats. It's delicious, but he's not surprised. He's always known Barclay to be an amazing cook, even before the wonders of modern appliances. Indrid sets the drink on the side table so he can cut his chicken, and takes things slow. His stomach's churning, and he's not used to eating much. He probably won't be able to finish this.

Duck lets out a soft chuckle. "You know, with the whole deal with Maple, and you spacin' out like that, I almost thought you'd gotten them back."

His lips twitch in a wistful half-smile. "I wish that were the case. No, I've been watching Maple on and off, the whole time we've been in here, so I just happened to see her sneak out." He spends more time chewing one of the cute little miniature potatoes than is probably strictly necessary. He still has trouble swallowing it, and has to take a drink to get it down. He misses his eggnog. It's doubtless all spoiled by now. "I was searching my inner vision, to see if I could catch even the smallest glimpse of the futures. I don't feel comfortable, not knowing why Agent Faulkner isn't returning tonight. I hoped I could find out."

"Well, I'm mighty thankful to you for tryin'. I wish Aubrey'd taken me seriously."

"How do you cope, with not knowing what's coming?"

"Well, I can't speak for anyone else, but personally?" He gives a little shrug. "I don't really. Not well, anyway."

He doesn't quite know why he laughs. It's not at Duck. 

Duck must know that, because he echoes the sound. From the other side, it becomes obvious how careworn it sounds. "Y'know, I've been having visions ever since Minerva first came around. I always fuckin' hated 'em, but when we met you, I had the crazy thought of, 'Hey, that'd be cool.' I mean, not that I wanna, like, see _more_ doom and gloom than I already do, but at least if it was constant, I'd have time to get used to it. Maybe I'd even be able to do somethin' about what I was seein', instead of just, I dunno. Waitin' for the pin to drop, without knowin' when or how it'll happen."

"It was a...mixed blessing."

"Yeah, I imagine." He leans back on his hands, careful not to tip the tray balanced on his thighs. "Sorry, I didn't mean to come across all, 'Oh, you were so lucky,' or anythin' like that. That's not what I mean at all. I can't even fuckin' imagine how stressed out you had to be, like, all the time. Guess I just wonder if I woulda preferred one or the other--either 'don't see the future' or 'always see the future', instead of the unpredictable dream bullshit." He tilts his head towards Indrid. "Can't say I envy you flippin' from one extreme to the other, though. I'm not tryin' to rub it in, either."

"Well, I can't say I'd want to be in your position, so it's alright." Indrid steals one of Duck's potatoes, just to try and lighten the mood.

Duck gives a true laugh this time. "Hey, now. What was that for?"

"You weren't guarding them."

"Oh, is that how it's gonna be? Do I need to watch my back around you?"

"Perhaps."

Duck chuckles again. "Well, I _was_ gonna offer to put Beacon in the other room. He's been quiet, but if we're gonna keep chattin' like this it seems kinda awkward to know he's listenin' in." He sighs and shakes his head, feigning regret. "But if I do that, then I might not have any dinner left when I get back. You've put me in a tricky situation, Indrid."

Beacon chooses that moment to speak up. "Please spare me from your pitiful cogitations, Duck Newton."

"Oh, no. I won't steal any more of your food," Indrid implores, amused.

Duck chuckles again and sets the tray aside, then gets up. He takes the belt off, then removes the hair band to turn Beacon back into his usual form before he carries him off into the bathroom. The sounds of his having a bit of a row with his sword are audible, though the words are not.

Indrid does the opposite of stealing, and unloads about half his portion onto Duck's plate so he doesn't make himself sick. He's not sure how Duck will react, and finds himself far more nervous about it than he normally would be. He at least didn't give Duck anything he'd bitten, so it should be alright? He hopes it'll be alright.

"Hey, you didn't have to do that, bud," he says when he comes back in, closing the door behind him. "You only took one potato."

"I actually had already planned to offer you the rest of my food, once I'd had my fill. The potato was a ruse."

Duck finally takes his shoes off and settles more fully on the bed, scooting back to sit against the wall. "No wonder you're so skinny."

Indrid's been barefoot since they got back to the lodge last night, so he goes ahead and adjusts, too. "I often forget to eat. Drinking is easier to do automatically. I'm well aware that nog isn't exactly a healthy meal replacement, but I find it rather addictive and I suspect it may have prevented outright starvation on more than one occasion."

"Holy shit, the mystery is solved!" He snorts. "Hey, are you cold or anything? You can use the blankets if you want." He shoves them over with his knee.

He is definitely cold. He's been cold almost nonstop for the past few days, but like most things he's fairly adept at tuning it out. He sets the plate aside again and gets himself bundled up before he goes back to eating. "Thank you, Duck."

"No problem, man."

They finish their meals in companionable silence. Duck slips him back a couple of his potatoes, and he eats them just so he's not worrying his friend. He ends up taking about ten minutes longer than the ranger does to get everything down, but he's pleased to find that Duck doesn't rush him or try to talk to him before he's done. He stacks his plate and cup on Duck's offered tray, then watches as the other man takes them and places them outside the door, careful to make sure Maple doesn't try to flee again.

"Duck, may I make a strange request?"

"Indrid, buddy, you could ask me to sing all thirteen verses of Amazin' Grace while doin' a handstand right now, and I'd fuckin' try."

He blinks in confusion. "Why would I ask you to do that? And, moreover, why would you? That would be ridiculous."

Duck laughs hard. "Nah, nah, that weren't serious. Jus' sayin' I'm still real grateful for earlier. What'd you want?"

He has to take a moment to process that and remember his actual question. He has to take another to push down his own worries about whether Duck's only letting him stay because he feels indebted to him. "Oh, um. I was just wondering if I could, ah. Try and befriend your cat?"

"Even after what happened earlier?" He smacks his forehead. "Aw, damn, hold on. I shoulda gotten out some first aid stuff for the scratches...." He goes into one of his bags and digs through it. "Still not used to this bein', you know, a treatment-worthy kinda injury, but it sure do sting, don't it?"

"You don't need to worry about me. It doesn't hurt too badly." He wraps the blankets more tightly around his shoulders. "And earlier is part of why I want to do this."

"Only part?" Duck still comes back to the bed with a pack full of supplies, probably for himse--oh. He's reaching out towards Indrid.

He just stares at Duck's hand.

His voice is so, so soft. "Come on. At least let me take a look."

He does.

"Oh, good." Duck turns Indrid's hands and forearms over gently. "She didn't get you nearly as bad as she got me. "I'm gonna do an alcohol wipe, okay? I don't think you need bandages."

Indrid nods and barely reacts to the sting. "Shall I?"

"Oh, uh. I can get it, that's okay."

"Duck, it's alright." His voice has gone almost as quiet as the ranger's. He uses his long reach to pull the first aid kit over.

There's stark nervousness in the way Duck holds out his arms.

Indrid is careful, especially around the strange patch of scar tissue covering most of Duck's left forearm. He decides not to ask questions when touching it causes the other man to tense. He just cleans the scratches and uses ointment and gauze over the worst of them. "To answer your question, I suppose I relate to Maple, in a way."

Duck looks at him in awed surprise. "Uh, howso?"

"As I said, I was watching her while everyone was in here, and I could see that she was anxious."

"Aw, poor girl. I shoulda figured that and had us go somewhere else. At least Dani thought ahead enough not to bring in the bunny."

Indrid squirms in his cocoon. He should have said something.

"But say no more." Duck makes the "one sec" motion, then moves around the room and grabs a few things from the floor and out of a small bag. "Okay, so I can't guarantee she's gonna warm up to ya', but this'll help your chances." He spreads out his haul on the bedspread. There's a bag of treats, a satchet of some kind, a brush, a feather wand, and a couple other small toys. "She's never been much of a snuggler, and I'm sure you already figured she doesn't much like bein' picked up. She wants everything on her terms. Always wondered if that's why she got left in the woods, but that don't mean she's a bad cat. Just...."

"Independent?"

"Yeah."

"Which of these should I start with?"

"Open the treats and shake the bag."

He does so. In about fifteen seconds, a fluffy orange head is peeking over the edge of the mattress. "Hello, there," Indrid says, then shakes the treats again. The head ducks back down at his voice, but it comes back cautiously, first just ears, then big green eyes.

"Okay, maybe set one down sorta between you and her, nice and slow."

He tries to be as non-threatening as he can as he sets the treat on the sheet close to himself. He pushes it towards Maple with one finger and then pulls his hand back to his chest.

Her nose becomes visible, too, twitching as she sniffs. For a second, it seems like she's disappeared again, but then she's jumped up on the bed and scarfed down the treat. Her head cranes, to one side and the other, and then upwards. She squints at Indrid, smelling the air, then looks to her person.

Duck chuckles. "It's okay, girl. I don't think he bites."

"Not normally, no." He pinches another treat between his fingers and reaches towards her as slowly as he can manage.

Maple does bite, apparently.

He lets out a little squeak and drops the treat. His mouth is breaking into a smile against his will. "I'm alright, before you ask. It didn't hurt."

"Aw, jeez. That wasn't a future thing. Am I that easy to read?"

"Yes."

Duck glares, though he doesn't look that angry. "Okay, I'm gonna do something. D'you trust me?"

"Should I not?"

"Depends if this goes well, I guess."

"That's reassuring."

Duck opens the satchet and sprinkles what is presumably catnip on Indrid's closest knee.

Maple's nose is going absolutely wild now, and her eyes have dilated. She crouches, then she pounces, mouth open and claws out.

Indrid has to cover his mouth with both hands to keep from making noise. He's laughing, even though the claws are managing to pierce through the covers. "Now I almost think you got her to attack me out of spite."

"I'd never." He's laughing, too.

He reaches out and throws one of the stuffed mice at Duck, then grabs a crinkly ball and drops it on Maple. That successfully gets her off his knee, as she rolls towards it and promptly attempts murder.

"Seriously, though, you okay?"

He chuckles. "Yes, I'm fine."

Once Maple's started calming down, Duck picks up the brush and tentatively scoots closer. "Is this your first time with a cat? It can't be, right?"

"No, not my first, though my experiences have been few and far between."

"You ever consider getting a pet? Bet it'd make your 'bago feel less lonely."

"Yes, multiple times, but the thought was always followed by numerous visions of their untimely ends. Starvation, overheating, accidental poisoning, one dog that would have most likely gone into cardiac arrest from witnessing the sudden transformation to my sylph form...."

Duck cringes, face contorted in revulsion.

"I'm sorry." Indrid bundles up tightly again, hiding his lower face in the blankets. "I'm not going to hurt Maple. I wouldn't. Almost all of that, besides the last thing, would have, ah--I'm not adept at minding my own needs, much less those of another creature. So long as you don't leave her in my care for an extended period of time...."

Duck sighs and bumps his shoulder against Indrid's arm in an echo of their interaction in the forest. "Shit, dude. That's--I mean, it's morbid as hell, but I guess I get it. Bet you had to get pretty cozy with the idea of death, huh? And, you didn't actually get any of those animals, right? None a' that actually happened?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't."

"Well, now you've got two pets you can visit whenever, and you don't gotta take care of 'em, yeah?"

Indrid barely dares to look at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Here, gimme your hand." He waits patiently, and puts the brush in the sylph's hand as soon as he can, wrapping his stocky fingers around Indrid's lanky ones. "Is this okay? I can back off if it's too much."

"Y-yes. I mean, I'm alright."

Duck guides him to hold the brush steady near Maple's cheek. She pauses in bathing herself and leans up to rub against the bristles.

Indrid whimpers. "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Me, or Maple?"

He huffs out a short laugh. "You, Duck."

"Someone oughta be. Might as well be me." He continues helping Indrid brush his cat as he asks, "Tell me why you wanted ta' befriend Maple again?"

"Sh-she seemed afraid. Of people. I know what that's like. I didn't want her to feel she had to be afraid of me, especially not since I keep grabbing her."

"Well, I wanna befriend you 'cause I know what it's like to have powers ya' didn't ask for. I know what it's like to feel like it makes you responsible for savin' people, even when nobody else is expected to go around bein' a hero. I know what it's like to put everything you've got into givin' it up, only to have it come back and bite'cha in the ass." He sounds bitter. "I even know why you're havin' so much trouble believin' you deserve this right now, 'cause I been there. And maybe that means I'm actually bein' selfish."

"Well. If our roles were reversed right now, I'd want to hear that my selfishness was appreciated."

"I'd like to hear that."

"Thank you for being selfish for me, Duck."

He chuckles. It's a little bit blubbery. "That don't make no goddamn sense."

He gives a little nudge. "Well, I have a lot of experience with paradoxes."

"Yeah, guess you would." He lets go of Indrid's hand. "You wanna try pettin' her? I think she might let you now. Just let her sniff the backs of your knuckles and see if she goes for it."

All of his attention coalesces into following that instruction, and into the sensation of soft fur on his skin. He's still cold, even with the blankets, but feeling Maple pressing her face against his hand makes warmth pool in his chest. He bites his lip and tests out moving his fingers, scratching her cheek, then under her chin. Then he's petting her fully, letting her shove her head into his cupped fingers and running his hand down her back. She follows the touch upwards and almost falls over when he gets to her tail. She's actually purring.

"You're doin' great, Indrid."

"She's beautiful." His throat is tight.

"You gettin' emotional over petting my cat?"

He doesn't even try to deny it.

"You get like this over Dr. Harris Bonkers?"

He shakes his head. "He loves everyone."

The ranger chuckles. "Yeah, he does."

"This feels special, somehow."

Duck slides an arm behind Indrid's back and squeezes him around the waist. "Yeah, it does."

The warmth in his chest grows, and spreads upwards. "Why did you name her Maple?"

"Orange. Like maple leaves." His shrug is more felt than seen. "Not super creative, but you know. Trees."

"I like it." He switches which hand he's using to pet Maple, so he can wrap his arm around Duck's shoulders. It means sacrificing some cover, but the touch of others is still a fresh and remarkable thing, and he wants as much of it as he can get. "Did you know the colors of the trees were part of what made me fall in love with Earth?"

Duck looks up at him. "No shit? You're not just sayin' that to get on my good side?"

He laughs. "In my sylph form, I see in ultraviolet, so the world looks very different depending on which body I'm wearing. The first time I saw color, it was so utterly breathtaking. It was autumn, and I'd never seen anything like it. Spring was an entirely different revelation."

Duck's jaw drops. "The spectrum you _see_ in changes?"

"I don't completely understand it, either. I'm not actually sure I see color the way you do as a human, but it is markedly different from how I see it when I'm not disguised. It took me a long time to acclimate to it, as did the switch from compound eyes, but I'm used to it now."

Duck is leaning back against Indrid's arm, shaking his head slowly, brows trying to ascend from his face. "Okay, I need a minute. You're blowin' my mind here, man."

Indrid gives him a minute. During that time, Maple apparently decides she's done for now and leaves to curl up on Duck's duffel bag. Oh, well.

"Okay, so the disguises are, like. Legit human? Not just a visual thing?"

"I think so? At least an approximation? It's an actual change in form, not an illusion; I do know that much. That's why it would have taken so much more energy to give Beacon extra parts."

"Magic is fuckin' weird...."

Indrid laughs. "It is, even to those of us who do it. Sylvain is a remarkable being, to give us this power." He tries not to think too hard about Sylvain, and how he still hasn't found her. He decides to distract himself with, "Would you like to know why my charm used to be the glasses?"

"Please. Findin' out your eyes _aren't_ super weird is still tripping me out."

"While developing my abilities as a young seer, I learned to visualize the futures more clearly, so much so that they seemed to layer over my physical sight." He raises his free hand, fingers splayed, and moves it around, pressing it to various spots in his field of vision, as if stamping it onto a curved invisible plane. "As a sylph, I could see all the futures simultaneously." He draws a wide horizontal arc around his head. "But to track them as a human, I had to look from one to the other rapidly." He moves his pointer finger around in a random pattern. "I learned quickly that people find it unsettling to see someone's gaze constantly flicking this way and that."

"Okay, yeah, that's actually pretty weird." Duck makes a face. "Sounds like a pain in the ass, too."

"Like most things, it had its advantages and disadvantages. Even when I could see all of the futures at once, I still couldn't process more than one, or sometimes two at a time. You can't focus your attention on everything you can see, can you?"

"Guess not, but I think I'd get a headache if I had to move my eyes around that much."

He leans his elbow on his leg and his cheek against his hand. He rubs Duck's shoulder with the other palm. "I found it relaxing, most of the time. Easier to focus in on certain futures while ignoring others. More concrete choice over what I wanted to see. I didn't seem to get as easily overwhelmed."

"I take back what I said earlier." He headbutts Indrid's shoulder. "That sounds way too complicated. I don't want seer powers."

"Well, then I pray you never manifest them."

"Thanks." Duck looks into the far corner of the room. "I should really be the one askin' why you're so nice to me."

Indrid frowns. "Why do you say that?"

"You've been so open with us, ever since we first met you. Tellin' us how your powers work, talkin' about Silver Bridge. Hell, I even got onto you about it back then, but you were totally valid with the whole, 'Y'all wanna see my wings? Psych!' thing."

"I have never uttered those words in my life."

"Paraphrase, man! Paraphrase!" He chuckles. "Point is, we kinda deserved that, in hindsight. Can't believe the first thing any of us asked ya' was if we could ogle you like a goddamn freakshow. So you were a real good host to some real shitty guests."

" _I_ was a good host?"

"Well...yeah. We barged into your home all judgey, tryin' to steal your glasses, and you were still like, 'Can I get you anything? Let me slow my roll so you don't get uncomfortable, act like I'm _not_ hearin' y'all repeat the same shit I just premonitioned. Oh, by the way, lemme tell you 'bout some of the worst shit that ever happened to me!' We didn't deserve all that."

"....You've thought about this."

"I mean, kinda hard not to think back on meetin' the guy who kept you and like half of town from beefin' it."

Indrid feels his face heat at that. "I didn't--if I'd been less forthcoming, the likelihood that you all trusted me would have been greatly reduced."

"Man, we're the worst." Duck starts to pull away.

His grip around the ranger's shoulders tightens. "Please don't let go."

He scoots in even closer without hesitation and wraps his arm even further around Indrid's body. "Okay, I'm not goin' anywhere. I got you."

He drops his forehead onto Duck's crown.

Duck just rubs his side in response. "Look, you don't gotta keep tellin' me things about you, if you don't want. Your sylph stuff ain't none 'a my business. You don't have to make me trust you. You've never been anythin' but helpful, Indrid."

It takes him a long time to get the words to come out. "Y-you're my friend, right?"

"Yeah. Hell yeah."

He laughs--a little sad, a little disjointed, but a laugh all the same--and the relief makes his mouth pull upward of its own accord.

"There's somethin' I think I wanna tell you. You deserve to know."

"Duck, you don't have to tell me anything. You're not indebted to me. This isn't a trade."

"I know, I know." He leans his head back, so his forehead is perpendicular to Indrid's. "That's not what I meant. You've been, like, the best ally. If I'm gonna tell anyone about this who don't already know, I want it to be you first."

The proximity and the vulnerability are verging on overwhelming, and he has to pick up his head and look forward instead of at Duck. He doesn't let go. "Well, then," he takes a deep breath, "I'd be honored to listen."

"So, that scar, on my arm. Thanks for not just, like. Askin' about it. Only people I've ever really talked to about it are my sister Jane, and Juno--and Jane's my sister and Juno's the one who drove me home from the hospital and babysat me all through bein' drugged up and in pain." He gives Indrid a little squeeze. "It's pretty private, in about the most literal sense it could be. Like, TMI levels."

He doesn't really know how that could be, but he's even more glad for not probing if it's true. "Honestly, I was mostly puzzled as to how you could sustain an injury like that. I was under the impression that your powers prevented most hurts? It must have been severe. Or was that before Minerva came into your life?"

"No, it was after." He snorts. "Thing is, it wasn't--it weren't really an injury, in the sense of me not wantin' it to happen. It was a surgery. I chose to get it done. Had a few, actually." He leans against the taller man, and now he's the one who's looking away. "The nights before I went in were the only times between the day I turned down bein' the Chosen One and recently when I actually tried to talk to Minerva. I remember kneelin' on my bed, hands clasped towards the ceiling, goin', 'Minerva, if you can hear me, please let this work.'"

"Did it?"

"Yeah, went off without a hitch, and I healed up great, too. Way faster than I woulda otherwise. So that was pretty cool."

Indrid smiles, though Duck can't see it. "I'm glad to hear that."

"So, this is probably nothin' compared to goin' from sylph to human. Hell, if I'd known form-changing magic was a thing, maybe I woulda done stuff differently, but I'm, uh. I don't know how much you know about this part of human, ah, biology, or if you have this on Sylvain--I mean, I guess you probably would, huh? Be pretty wild if you didn't, actually--but I'm--" he takes a steadying breath. "I'm transgender."

Indrid's never heard it talked about so frankly, but he's heard similar terms in passing, and the grapevine to the castle in Sylvain did carry in some stories. Sometimes he regrets spending so much time in isolation. "Oh. I think I understand, but I don't want to risk misinterpreting if I'm wrong."

"Born in the wrong body. Parents thought I was a girl when I was a kid. She/her pronouns, feminine name, the whole works."

"I can't even imagine thinking of you that way."

"Heh." He shifts just enough that Indrid can glimpse the way his smile pushes up his reddened cheeks. "Yeah, I've been livin' as a guy since basically as soon as I left home after high school, so even I forget sometimes."

"So, the surgeries were for that?"

"Yeah, surgeries and hormones, to make me look more like my real self. Doesn't always do a lotta good when you live in a small town and most everyone knows your whole history, but," he shrugs, "helps when I look in the mirror, which is the important thing, I guess."

"And when you're introducing yourself to strangers from another world?"

"Yeah, or people who came in late, like Aubrey and Ned." He finally turns to give Indrid a grin. "Only other people I gotta worry about are the kinds who'd know what's up with my arm. I don't usually go around shirtless so the chest scars aren't normally an issue, but the arm one's just kinda out there, and if you're in the know, it's like, 'Oh, I know somethin' _real_ personal about this dude now, okay.' But the only people who'd recognize it would probably be the ones who did their research--like, other trans guys, or people who know trans guys, or, like. Surgeons--so that's not so bad, I s'pose. Never actually had it happen, but I was real worried about it for a long time."

Indrid raises his brows. "Should I avoid doing the research, then?"

"I mean, you've been real cool about everything, so I think I'm okay with you knowin', but maybe I should take you to dinner first." He laughs. He doesn't leave space to react to that before he perks up and adds, "Actually, so, there's this place at the ski resort near here. Restaurant called the Wolf Ember Grill. Best French onion soup you'll ever have. I've already made Ned try it, and you've _gotta_ get in on that, man."

"All...right?"

"After this is all over, you'll come get soup with me, right Indrid?" He looks so hopeful. The trust and openness in the expression makes something fond and tender worm its way into Indrid's gut.

The answer is easy. "Yes. As soon as we can, Duck."

"Hell yeah." He cuddles back in, looking utterly content.

Indrid grabs the blanket from where it's been slowly slipping down over the course of the conversation and wraps it around the other man, too. The fondness curls and clenches, morphs into something less pure. Protectiveness, doubt, self-preservation. He tries to get a hold on his thoughts to keep them from spiraling out of his control, but then there's one worry, two, just as tangible as his visions were, and he's--

"You okay?"

He doesn't want to ruin this moment for Duck, but it's already crashing and burning for him, so quickly. Why can't he just let himself be happy?

"Indrid, what's up?"

"If I still had my powers," he admits, though he's loathe to, "this conversation wouldn't have been possible."

"Bullshit."

His brows furrow. "Duck, half of what we've talked about has hinged on my not knowing what you were going to say until you chose to say it."

"Y'ain't a mind reader, right?"

"No, but--"

"Nuh-uh, lemme finish. It wasn't you not bein' able to see the future that made this work. Yeah, maybe you woulda found out a little early and that coulda made stuff more awkward, but you can't know anything I wouldn't have told you in at least one possible timeline, right?"

He swallows. Nods.

"I told you because you gave more of a damn about how I felt than about chasin' your own curiosity. And I don't see how different that could be now from how it was a couple days ago."

He wants to accept that. He wants to believe it's him who earned Duck's trust; that it's not just a product of his circumstances. He settles for reminding himself that Duck is a terrible liar, so one of them must think it's true. He still feels like he needs to justify his right to even hope. "This probably isn't--actually, no, nevermind. I don't think this is comparable to your situation at all."

"That's okay, man. You can tell me anyway if you wanna. While we're already sharin'."

"I've never actually told anyone this before." He fiddles with the edge of the blanket in front of him. "I think I'm actually more comfortable as a human than as a sylph."

"You don't like your sylph form?"

"It's not quite that severe. Like I said, it doesn't really compare to...actually feeling you were born in the wrong body. My sylph form still feels like me, and there are things I do wish crossed over to my disguise. It's just that, if I were able to return to Sylvain, and I were forced to stay there and expected to leave my human form behind, I'd feel a deep sense of loss. I love being able to--to smile, and to see color, and to interact with people without frightening them so much, and even when I'm feeling trapped in my disguise because it would put me or others in danger to take it off, I don't feel I mind it nearly as much." He finds the pendant and fishes it out of the bundle, its shape and weight a familiar comfort even without the energy inside it. "Earlier, when I had lost my charm, and I wasn't sure if I'd still have the power to enchant things...when I thought I might die, in that form, before I could get to the gate. That my body might be found like that. I was...so afraid."

Duck turns to wrap both arms around him.

He carefully gets his limbs arranged so he can return the embrace. "Duck, if I die here, I think I want to be buried wearing my charm." He shakes his head, nestling his nose in the ranger's hair. "Apologies. I'm being morbid again."

"I don't wanna think about havin' to put you in the ground, buddy, but damnit I bet we could whip up a hell of a funeral for you."

That gets a little bit of a smile out of him. "I say this only because there are sylphs who would treat this form that I created as nothing more than an article of clothing, when it's so much more than that. There are humans to whom I'll always be The Mothman, though I never agreed to that title. Just because being a moth...runs deeper, I suppose, that doesn't make it more real. Sometimes, I wonder if perhaps there's a part of me that remembers my ancestry as an Earth moth, and if that moth ever wanted to be human. That's...silly, isn't it?"

Duck's voice is muffled in his chest. "Not as silly as my brain tryin' to turn you into _The Little Mothman_ and imagine you doin' a rendition of 'Part of Your World'." A beat. "Please tell me you've seen that movie."

That cracks him up. "What a disaster. We can't hold onto a good moment without letting it go sour, and we can't finish a serious point without cracking a joke."

"Welcome to Duckberg. Get out while you still got the chance."

He doesn't usually giggle. This is worth making an exception. "I'm afraid I've already put a down payment on the house. There's no going back now."

"Damn, why'd you go and do that? Not exactly prime real estate over here."

"The community is good, though."

Duck's sigh is hot and shuddery through the strap of Indrid's tank top. "You can finish what you were tryin' to say."

"I suppose all I was getting at is that the only reason I treated your identity the way I did, is that it's how I wish more people would treat me."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." He snorts lightly. "That's called the Golden Rule, man."

"I mean I did it more for my own peace of mind than for your benefit."

He sits up to meet the sylph's gaze, mouth lopsided and eyes crinkling. "Hey, Indrid?"

"Yes, Duck?"

"I 'ppreciate you bein' selfish for me."

He laughs--a little sad, a little disjointed, but a laugh all the same--and then Duck is laughing too, and they keep setting each other off when they try to stop. It feels so...normal, so easy and comfortable that it's verging on surreal. If Duck weren't such a grounding presence in his arms, he's not sure he'd believe it were true.

"D'you wanna try playing with Maple again? She goes _crazy_ for the feather wand."

His smile even pulls his shoulders upwards. "I'd love that."

\--------

He wakes in Dani's bed the next morning after about five hours of sleep. It's a good night's rest for him, but he does worry about how it'll affect Duck. His shoulders and chest are swimming in the oversized sweater that Duck loaned him last night, though it still only comes down to his mid-forearms. He rubs his icy hands and sits.

He fell asleep curled around the sketchbook-- _his_ sketchbook, from a friend. It's still open to the spread of pages from last night. He smiles and traces over the drawings he did, all of Duck and Maple, in colored pencil. They're not nearly as accurate as his future sketches were. After all, those were practically tracings, where he'd just lay the scene over the paper and then mark it down. These are different. They're looser, scratchy and messy and hurried as he tried to get down the impressions of each moment instead of the details. The colors don't even make much sense. But they're bright and passionate and...he likes them. Not as much as he liked the real thing, but the memories they conjure make him feel fluttery and light.

He closes the book and sets it safely on the dresser as he pads into the bathroom. The tile is cold under his bare feet. Maybe he should start wearing socks, now that he's not in his Winnebago anymore.

He looks at himself in the mirror. He looks at the face he crafted, into the eyes that even he's barely ever seen. He may be imagining it, but does he have more color in his cheeks than usual, or is it only because he's not seeing them through red?

He undresses to shower and considers his body. Then he takes off the pendant and considers that form, too. The reflection of Seer Cold stares back.

Ex-Seer Cold. Right.

He suddenly realizes he doesn't actually know what he looks like, to a human. He's only ever seen his sylph form through his sylph eyes. Does the frightening thing he is look even moreso to people like Duck?

He stays like that only long enough to do some stretches, then shifts again to wash up.

He doesn't have a change of clothes, so he wears the same tank and jeans for the third day in a row. He wishes he could say that were something new. He does decide to wear the socks this time, and he definitely takes advantage of the sweater. He brings the sketchbook with him to the lobby.

He meets with everyone and has a light breakfast. Duck slips him a few bites of his hefty serving of scrambled eggs with a grin. They only have a brief while to catch up with everyone about what changed last night, before Agent Faulkner comes sweeping in.

With her is the young Interpreter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you spend 12 hours trying to wrap your head around one (1) good chilly stunt boy and wonder if you'll manage to crack a thousand words, and sometimes you spend 12 hours writing 6,500 words of a moth and a duck cuddling and talking and petting a cat. Them's the breaks, I guess.


	23. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A memory and a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so late! I didn't have a particular amount of trouble actually writing it. I was just out running errands a lot the past couple days, and distracted. Pretty happy with this one, although it kind of gutted me.
> 
> (Also, just noting that it is canon in this story that a _certain character_ has gone off to England and is currently living his best life. He may or may not be receiving a much-needed call at some point in the future.)

Two hundred and thirty-seven years ago, Woodbridge Hargrove Everafter IV died. He did not die heroically, or dramatically, or peacefully. No, he died slowly, painfully, and nearly completely alone.

He also died an embarrassment.

Woodbridge became the Minister of Preservation after over 80 years as the castle gardener. Even after his promotion, he still liked to tend the plants. Once a week, at the same time every week, he'd check on all of them and make sure the current gardener was doing his job. He'd give them a little water, a little fertilizer, a trim if they needed it. It was his favorite time of week, because it was his two hours to just spend with the mercifully quiet flora and his thoughts. No bureaucracy. No hearings. No frustration.

One particular day, however, Woodbridge's least favorite person was in the gardens waiting for him. 

Seer Cold was a menace. Woodbridge's first encounter with him had been during his gardener days, when he'd woken one morning to find a huge, spiny caterpillar eating all the foliage off his freshly-bloomed gardenias. He'd spent the next three years guarding his plants with a rake and a spray bottle and repeatedly asking Interpreter Merriweather why there was a baby running loose in the castle, and why nobody was keeping it under control.

She simply responded that Sylvain decreed it so. After all, only one sylph in a thousand was gifted the powers given to Indrid Cold, and only one in a thousand of those had them to the degree that he did. He was special, and deserving of special treatment, she said. Apparently this meant that he was allowed the run of the place. It didn't matter that he wouldn't even manifest his clairvoyance until after metamorphosis (which took place in a cocoon pieced together out of half of one of Woodbridge's best whitewoods); Sylvain wanted the young seer treated like royalty, because apparently he would achieve great things.

When Cold became a moth, he got better in some ways and far worse in others. Mostly, he was just creepy and socially awkward and hid in quiet spots around the castle to draw. This meant he often took up the spaces that Woodbridge wanted to occupy when he was stressed, and then left them covered in scales and charcoal dust and discarded sketches that he never seemed to remember to properly throw away. At least he'd stopped actively destroying the plants, although he was too big and clumsy to actually pollinate, or even just to wander the thin garden paths without causing some level of damage.

Needless to say, Woodbridge wasn't happy to see him.

"Good afternoon, Minister Everafter."

He didn't respond. He just went into the shed to get his well-worn set of tools.

"I have something very important to talk to you about, if you wouldn't mind?" He loped behind in that stooped, fidgety, too-close way he often did when he was trying to get others' attention.

"Let me guess, Cold: Bad news?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. And I need you to stop what you're doing if you want to keep it from coming to pass."

He sighed. "What is it this time? A rip in my trousers? A stain on my shirt? A knocked over pot?"

"You're going to die."

Woodbridge froze. "Don't play games with me, Cold. What could possibly kill me here?" The only thing that felt dangerous to him was the eight-foot moth hovering behind him.

He pointed, voice wavering. "The thistle."

Woodbridge did turn to him at that. "I have been tending these gardens for 120 years. I am not going to be _killed_ by a _thistle_!"

Cold stared at him with that sharp, expressionless face of his, and spoke without moving his mouth at all. "Please. Just skip tending it this one time."

"If _anything_ needs tending today, it's the thistle. I know you hate it because you keep getting your wing fringe caught on it, but if you would stop walking so close it'd leave you alone, _and_ I wouldn't have to pull all the stems you've broken." He groaned. "Is that what's really going on here? Is the thistle actually what would die if I left it alone today, and you've baked up some kind of story to keep me away?"

"I wouldn't." He clasped all his hands together in a tangle and drew his wings around his body. "I know it's my fault I keep brushing against it, but if you tend the thistle today, you will most certainly perish. Please, Minister. If you don't believe me, at least wear gloves."

"I'll be fine." He turned and decided to show off just how fine he'd be. Maybe he could even teach the seer something about how to handle spiny plants properly, without getting pricked.

"No!" Cold yelled in enraged desperation, grabbing Woodbridge by the shoulders and jerking him away from the plant.

Woodbridge did something he rarely did, and turned on the seer, shoving him away with an equally furious shriek.

Then he stumbled and fell backwards, directly into the thistle.

Cold stood before him, arms outstretched. Over the next thirty seconds, his wings began to shiver, followed by his hands, and he collapsed to his knees, rocking and clutching at his head. "No. No, no, no, it's too late. It's too late. T-there's nothing that can be done. You're going to die in two weeks and three days. You could lessen the pain by taking your own life, but there is no other option. You're going to die. Oh Sylvain, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry...."

Woodbridge looked at his hand. It was bleeding. Amongst all the scratches was a tiny thorn stuck just behind one knuckle, directly into a vein.

If he'd believed Cold, perhaps he would have killed himself, or asked the damned moth to do it for him. The thistle had a fungal infection, he found out later. The fungus had almost immediately spread into his bloodstream, and from there it grew and slowly poisoned his whole body.

Woodbridge, by all accounts, should be glad that Seer Cold is gone for good. He wants to be glad. But where are the great things the seer is supposed to achieve? Had Sylvain been wrong? Has Woodbridge suffered so long for nothing?

He's been a ghost for 237 years, waiting for the moment of closure that will allow him to move on. 

Will it ever come?

\--------

Woodbridge is the most responsible person in the castle by far, so of course it's him who finds the Interpreter's door cracked and her room empty, a note on her desk.

> Dear Ministers,
> 
> I have finally found a way I can be of use to Sylvain. I have been called to take a trip to Kepler to speak with Seer Cold, and our planet has bestowed upon me part of her heart. I suspect I may be on Earth for some time. I give the three of you full jurisdiction over affairs here while I am away. Please don't come after me; this is something I need to do.
> 
> Thank you for your patience with me all of these years.
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  Alexandra

Woodbridge is so shocked that his hand loses its tangibility, and the letter slips right through his fingers. What is she _thinking_ , leaving Sylvain without an Interpreter? Even if she could never compare to her father, she's all they have. It takes him a few minutes to get himself together enough to pick the sheet back up.

Janelle is easy to find, because when she's not in a hearing she's almost always in her quarters. She barely looks up from her book when Woodbridge phases through her door without knocking, though she does visibly quirk an eyebrow. "Good morning, Woodbridge. You're not normally this rude. What's going on?"

He sets the letter on top of her book, so she has to look at it.

Her face blanches, and she stands. "Alexandra came to me last night and told me she saw a memory of Seer Cold. I was not expecting her to take such brash action." She pulls the layers of cloth away from her neck, and almost knocks her headscarf loose from her thick hair. "She doesn't know how to enchant. Did she even have a disguise?"

Woodbridge finds himself shocked for the second time that day. He's never seen Janelle make an expression like that, so concerned. So...caring.

Janelle looks at him, then shakes her head. "I need to get Vincent. I don't care what she requested; Alexandra is a child. She should not be on Earth alone." She grabs the letter and reads over it again, then runs out of the room without giving him a second thought.

Woodbridge floats a ways behind her, staggered. He's worked with Janelle for over a century and a half, and he's never seen this side of her. He watches her from afar as she hurries up to Vincent, as the two pore over the letter together. He watches Vincent's face drop. He watches Vincent wrap his arms around her.

Both of them look over.

Woodbridge realizes, all at once, that he's worried about something very different than they are.

He thinks, by their expressions, that they know it.

He's sure they do, when they leave him behind.

It's rare for him to feel regret.

He goes to the gardens, because he doesn't know what else to do. Since the attack, the plants have been slowly withering away, save for the mysterious bed of flowers that cropped up one day by the heart. No amount of fertilizer or water has slowed their decline. Is it because Sylvain is dying, or because he's forgotten how to love them the way he used to?

He sinks to the ground in front of the thistle.

Two hundred and thirty-seven years ago, Woodbridge Hargrove Everafter IV died. He died slowly, painfully, and nearly completely alone. He used to think people were embarrassed by him, because he was a gardener who died to a plant. 

Could it really be that he simply pushed everyone who ever cared for him away?


	24. Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game is played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I [drew Indrid and Duck](http://morganeashton.tumblr.com/post/184208962610/in-a-perfect-world-another-piece-for-my-the)! I'm really, really happy with the picture, and I hope those of you who haven't seen it yet like it, too!
> 
> This one was hard to get out. Just figuring out who wanted to speak took until this (Wednesday) afternoon, but it was a good practice in listening and shutting off the thinking brain. I first thought this was going to be a Duck chapter, then a Janelle one. I had to really listen to that quiet inner voice to figure out it was Alexandra who wanted to come forward, and then listen even harder to get that I needed to start BEFORE where Chapter 23 ended. I'm never happy to be late, but it is always a triumph when I do push through and find my direction again.
> 
> See you all after tomorrow's episode! Let's hope it's a good one!

Alexandra wakes in an unfamiliar place, to unfamiliar sounds. She's not alarmed, exactly. She remembers where she is, and why she's here. It's just strange, is all. Her room in the castle is all she's ever known, save for the rare occasions when she's dozed on Janelle's couch. But this isn't just another room down the hall; it's another world entirely, and she lets that thought settle into her like a stone in water.

A _stone_ , of course.

She looks to make absolutely sure she's alone in the tent, and pulls out the piece of crystal. It's warm with life, and she takes comfort in that warmth as she holds it close to her chest and listens. Perhaps Sylvain has gifted her a memory.

"Gently," says the voice of Sylvain. "I will release them, but only gently."

A chorus responds, "Your defiance will cost you. Will you pay the price?"

"Yes," she responds without hesitation. Alexandra finds herself mouthing the word.

Before her, a Sylvan dies. They fall to their knees, and then to the ground, and a ghost is left standing where they once were. There is no mourning. There is celebration, as loved ones gather around to embrace them and dance and sing. Others fall, and other spirits take their places. There is a festival of lights. Thousands of Sylvans, more than Alexandra has seen in her entire life, fill the streets. The ghosts cheer and laugh with the living. Occasionally, one will smile and fade away. Alexandra feels only contentment.

An animal crosses through the gate.

"Beautiful creature," says Sylvain. "I bestow upon you my gifts, so that you may know a new home."

"Your arrogance will cost you," echoes the chorus from all directions. "Will you pay the price?"

"Yes," she and Alexandra say without hesitation.

The animal stands. She joins the festival. She learns to embrace, and to dance and sing and cheer and laugh. Others join her, and the Sylvans take her hands. "Together, we are sylphs," they say, and celebrate through the night, through the seasons, through their own peaceful deaths and their yet more peaceful acceptance and release. Alexandra feels only joy.

A human man crosses through the gate.

"He is ours," says the Quell. "This is the price you must pay."

The man runs towards Alexandra, hatred in his eyes, a scream in his throat, and a knife raised in attack.

She drops the crystal, and she's alone once more.

\--------

It's still dark when she leaves the tent. The guards ask her what she needs. She doesn't know, but she spots Loryn sitting at a table, papers scattered before her and a pen in her hand. The guards let Alexandra go to her.

Loryn looks up and closes her folder. "It's still early. You should try and get some more sleep. We have a long day tomorrow."

Alexandra sits across from her. "What about you?"

She sips something from a metal canister. "I'm just trying to get some extra work in."

She considers the words and Loryn's face. "You're lying."

Her brows furrow. "What makes you say that?"

"I have a friend who spends a lot of nights awake. I have practice telling the difference between wanting to keep working and not being able to sleep."

"Hm." She leans back and crosses her arms. "Would you like to play a game?"

Alexandra mirrors her pose. "What kind of game?"

"A guessing game. You try and tell me why I can't sleep, and I'll do the same for you."

"What are the stakes?"

She smirks. "Whoever guesses closest gets to ask a question, and the loser must answer truthfully."

"And if we both guess correctly?"

"We both get a question."

She should say no. All logic says this game is risky. It also seems strangely forward. Perhaps it's a test, or a game in itself, to see how easily Alexandra will give in. "You don't expect to lose," she says.

"Do you think you could beat me?"

By all accounts, she shouldn't stand much of a chance. She's so much younger than this woman, and all of her instincts say Loryn is someone to fear. She really should say no. "How many guesses do we get?"

"Let's say three, and I'll sweeten the pot for you: I'll tell you how close you are. Maybe even give you hints if I'm feeling generous."

"Do I have to do the same?"

She considers that. "Only if you want to." Is it confidence? Arrogance? Is Loryn underestimating her? Does she just feel she isn't under any risk?

There is absolutely no reason Alexandra should say yes, and yet there's something within her telling her to do it. She doesn't know if it's whatever guided her here, or her own curiosity. She decides to listen anyway. She wants to play. "Okay. I get to guess first."

"Alright. How about we take turns? One guess at a time."

She nods. She looks at Loryn's face, tries to read into her carefully curated expression. "You're angry about something."

She tilts her head, pondering. "Yes, but I think you need to be more specific."

"Is it still part of the same question?"

She chuckles. "Sure. Why not?"

"It's about...the Mothman?"

"No. Not this time." Her drink is fragrant and earthy as she takes another swig. "And I don't really have anything else to say about it. You're not close at all. Do you want a bottle of water?"

"Sure." She takes it when it's offered and opens it, sips without bothering to check it. She hopes she doesn't regret that later.

Loryn goes next. "Are you homesick?"

She shakes her head and continues to drink slowly. She doesn't have to elaborate, so she doesn't. "You're angry about...another person?"

"Yes, but once again I'll need you to be less general. Most anger--at least the kind that would keep someone up at night--is directed at others."

She's grateful that Loryn is allowing her to keep digging without penalizing her, but it makes her feel even more suspicious. "It's about...one of the people you're working with."

"No. Once again, you are completely off-base." Her smirk grows a little sharper. "You had a nightmare."

"Not quite," Alexandra says. Perhaps she should have just said no again. She takes a deep breath. This is her last chance. She closes her eyes and thinks. Frowns. "You go."

"Alright." She leans an elbow on the table. "Not quite a nightmare. Hm. A memory, perhaps?"

Her breath seizes in her chest. Does that count? It wasn't _her_ memory. Is it actually fair to expect someone who doesn't know who she is to be able to guess this? Should she even be playing fair? She considers how she wants to answer. "Yes, but I think you need to be more specific, too."

She taps her fingers on the table. She's still smirking, but her eyes are narrowed in scrutiny. "You remembered how someone hurt you."

She sees something cross Loryn's features, and it causes her eyes to widen, and she feels her jaw go slack. "No," she says in wonder. "But you did."

Loryn's whole face falls.

Alexandra knows she's won. She doesn't even wait for confirmation. "What happened? That's my question."

The fury boiling under Loryn's now-replaced mask is terrifying. It's worse when she forces a smile. "It was an adult matter. You wouldn't understand."

She has to fight to hold back the smile that's tugging at her lips. "I still want you to tell me. That was the deal, right?"

She takes a deep breath and finishes her drink, then sets the canister down with careful restraint. "I had a run-in, you could say, with an old friend."

"Here in Kepler?"

"That's a different question."

"Fine." She sips her water. "So what did you remember?"

She looks away. "Our relationship went sour. That's all I'm willing to tell you."

Alexandra finally lets herself smile. "Okay. Thank you for playing with me. That was fun." She stands. "I think I can sleep now." That last part is a lie, but she can tell she needs to get away while she's ahead.

Loryn's smile is strained. "Alright. Goodnight, dear."

When she gets back to the tent, she covers her mouth with both hands and tries to slow her racing heart.

This could either be useful, or very, very dangerous.

\--------

Amnesty Lodge is warm and inviting, and it smells of homemade food. Of the people in the lobby, she recognizes Mama, Barclay, and the rest of the Pine Guard. There isn't a face that isn't staring at her. Whether because they know who she is, or just because she's in her Sylvan form, she isn't sure. Even she doesn't know how to tell the difference between the humans and disguised sylphs. She hangs back behind Loryn and studies each and every one of them. Most everyone is shocked, though only a few people seem afraid.

"Good morning, Amnesty Lodge," says her companion. "I brought a guest, who is going to be helping me with my investigation. I do hope that's alright?"

There are whispers. A tall man says something to one of the Pine Guard. He seems calmer than the others, though his movements are fidgety as he plays with a chain around his neck. He twirls it around his finger idly until he pulls a crystal pendant out of his shirt. He locks his gaze with Alexandra's and gives her the slightest smile.

Could it really be this easy? "Loryn?"

The woman turns to her, expressionless. "Yes?"

"The food smells really good. Do you think it'd be alright if I have some breakfast?"

"Yes, fine, if they'll allow it," she waves Alexandra off and sits in a chair in front of the Pine Guard.

Barclay hears this and stands. "Yeah, that's not a problem. I'll whip you up a plate." He asks a few questions about her food choices, then disappears into the kitchen.

She looks at her seating options. She doesn't want to make it too obvious that she's focusing on one person in particular. She notices a stack of cushions, and grabs one to sit on the floor at the table between Loryn and the others, on the side nearest the man she presumes to be Seer Cold.

Loryn leans forward, hands clasped. "So, shall we begin?"


	25. Fragmentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Useless emotions and mental blocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I give myself feels about the asshole sword, but he's still an asshole.
> 
> Welp, I went longer without updating than I planned for my impromptu hiatus (which was supposed to end on Saturday). Sorry 'bout that. (To be fair, though, I did write over 9k words of another fic, and the first chapter of that (with illustration!) should be posted soon.) I'm staying off a consistent schedule for a bit while I take care of things in my irl life, but I do still want to keep updating more frequently than this last break. I had some issue getting this chapter to come, because I keep trying to move the plot forward and it doesn't want to budge. Figured out I need to keep adding more scenes from different characters before I move forward with the interrogation. There will be a few more chapters from different POVs, each one adding new context to the scene. And then some serious shit is gonna go down, hoo boy. I think Leo's next, and I'll get him to you all ASAP! ♥

Beacon is forgotten on the bathroom counter as soon as Duck Newton leaves the room. This is nothing new of course, and the counters in Amnesty Lodge--despite the nature of the room in which they’re situated--are at least nicer than cabinets and sock drawers and duffel bags and the dark back sanctum of the Cryptonomica. The thing that makes this time so much worse, however, is the muffled din of speech and laughter filtering through the door.

Beacon would try to pass off the way he’s feeling as annoyance. After all, that’s his primary emotion when it comes to Duck Newton. His secondary emotion is spite, and he’s taken a lot of solace over the years in knowing that if he has to suffer, at least his master is generally a pathetic, miserable excuse for a human being. 

The problem right now is that both Duck Newton and the moth sound almost happy. More than almost, if he’s honest with himself. In the moments leading up to Beacon’s exile in the lavatory, they had most definitely seemed jovial, and it seems they may be even moreso with him gone.

He doesn’t like that at all.

One of the greatest injustices in Beacon’s existence is that he cannot sleep. Alongside that is the fact that he’s spent so much time with nothing to occupy him but his own thoughts, that he long ago stopped being able to fool himself.

Beacon isn’t annoyed. He isn’t spiteful. He isn’t infuriated. He isn’t frustrated. He isn’t even vengeful, though he’d like it more than anything if he were. That would be easy to deal with.

Loneliness, which is what Beacon is actually feeling right now, is decidedly less so.

Beings of pure destruction should not be able to feel lonely. Perhaps it was one of the many flaws introduced when he was forged into a sword.

For the first time in a long time--since even before those twenty-six torturous years, in fact--Beacon tries to remember. It’s something he usually avoids at all costs, because whatever the blacksmith did to him was meant to strip away everything that allowed him independent will, and his memories were hit the hardest. Trying to remember means hitting a wall he can’t ever seem to break through. It means a static in his consciousness that starts off quiet and grows the longer he concentrates, until it reaches a raging cacophony. It means feeling the acute claustrophobia of being trapped in a sword without even full access to his own most essential self.

Yet he grits his teeth and tries to remember.

He knows what he was. What his purpose was. That knowledge is a safe space he can occupy without any repercussion. After all, as a sword his hunger for destruction is useful. But beyond that, into the “hows” and “whys” and--and the “who”...

Well.

It’s that last one he clings to as the static builds, and it’s the one that makes it the loudest the fastest.

His name is Beacon. He is the light that stands at the edge of the darkness, he is the tower above the fog. He is the most--

_No._

The static grows, in retribution for his rebellion.

Those are not his words and Beacon is _not_ his name. That was just what the other world called him. His name is....

His name....

His name is Beacon. He is the li--

His _name_  
     is  
          Bea--

 _His name_ is....

is....

No. _I can’t do this._

The static stops.

"You okay there, man?" Duck Newton is standing in front of the counter, face etched with a concern he’s never given Beacon before.

Beacon doesn’t speak. He hears ringing in the air, and realizes it’s the hum of his own vibrating blade. He stills.

"Well, it’s late and Indrid’s headed out for the night." How long has it been? "Want me to put you on the nightstand?"

"Why would you do that, Duck Newton?" His voice has none of his usual bite. Even to him, he sounds tired. What an utterly useless feeling, for a being with no way to rest.

"You just seem, well, I dunno. I can’t read sword expressions, and you don’t have eyes or anything, but you were--fuck, I got no idea what that was? Vibrating? Shivering? I just know you’ve never done it before, that I’ve seen. And your mouth looked even more unhappy than it usually does. So I thought maybe you didn’t wanna be alone all night."

He wants to repeat his question, because that isn’t an answer, or at least not one that makes sense. It can’t be kindness. Duck Newton does not show Beacon kindness.

His master doesn’t push. He just brushes his teeth, picks up the hair tie charm and almost puts it on his own wrist before he thinks better of it.

Shame. That would have been a fascinating turn of events.

"I’m just...gonna do that, okay? Least then if somethin’ happens, I can disguise you quick."

Ah, of course. That’s a logical reason. "Fine."

Duck Newton finishes getting ready for bed, then moves Beacon as promised. He sits on the edge of the mattress. "So, uh, maybe I’ll regret this, but if you wanna talk about anythin’, I’ll listen?"

"I most certainly do not." The spite is returning, at least, thought it’s tinged with something else. Even if Beacon can’t pretend it isn’t there, he can at least willfully ignore it for the moment. That's one of his many talents.

"Well, good night and all that, I guess."

He can’t even bring himself to quip back with the "It won’t be," that he’s thinking. He must be slipping.

\--------

It’s not a good night, and it’s even less of a good morning. Beacon didn't think being a belt could be all that much worse than being a sword.

He was wrong.

Normally, Beacon has no use for measly senses. He doesn't need to see, hear, or feel when he just knows everything that exists within a certain radius. But the bear on the buckle? That has eyes and ears, so his awareness of his surroundings is centralized onto those points. This would be enough of an issue on its own, if it weren't compounded by his lack of a crossguard. Without that there to block Duck Newton's considerable gut, the disgusting man's flab cascades into his face when he sits.

Beacon would bite him, if he weren't bound from hurting his masters.

How did he not realize this issue sooner? How did he miss that he had to actually _look around_ to see the other faces in the room?

At least he doesn't have to breathe. If he did, he'd be in trouble when Duck Newton settles down between the moth and Ned Chicane. Beacon is engulfed in darkness and quiet. By the time he's freed, the buckle has heated to match his owner's body heat, and the leather is almost as warm. The moth is gone and Aubrey Little has taken its place. At the table, eating with a distant look on her face, is a vampire girl he recognizes as Sylvain's Interpreter.

And before him, sitting in an armchair with a confidence Beacon has always appreciated, is someone he recognizes. He remembers Loryn Faulkner from his days in New York with Leo Tarkesian. He never brought attention to himself then, out of respect for the wishes of his prior master.

He has no such respect for Duck Newton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The opinions of characters in this story do not necessarily reflect my personal opinions. (Duck is BEAUTIFUL, Beacon. Leave him alone!)


	26. Remembrance (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Manhattan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different.
> 
> This chapter has been...a journey. XD Sorry it took so long to get to you all! It's brought me face-to-face with a lot of inner psychological stuff I didn't realize I needed to deal with until I was indirectly writing about it, so that was fun. I hope you like flashbacks! Also, if you want an idea of where a couple major locations for this chapter are, [here's a map](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/d6qike3pultm6b1/NewYorkGate.PNG) showing where they'd be located if they existed in our real world today. (Unfortunately I didn't have a map of Manhattan in 1991 handy. XD)
> 
> This chapter wouldn't exist without help from [FaiaHae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaHae/pseuds/FaiaHae) and [theneonpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theneonpineapple/pseuds/theneonpineapple)!

Certain things in life are cyclical; others, prophetic. When you're involved in the kind of stuff Leo Tarkesian is, they're often both at once.

It is the fall of 1991. Someone's been spreading rumors, and so the Broken Heart Bar and Grill has been getting more customers lately, much to the chagrin of its usual patrons. Paisley is looking particularly annoyed. He serves virgin cocktails to a group of teenagers, who are dressed like they're thirty years late to the hippie movement. One of them drawls some bullshit about how lucky they were to find reiki-infused drinks in the big city. Another excitedly points out his own jeans, which are hand-painted in the loudest version of the bartender's namesake that Leo's ever seen.

One girl, wearing a flower crown that keeps shedding wilted petals onto the floor, brings her drink over to Leo's table and says, "Dude! Rad glasses!" to his companion. Leo snickers as Indrid, lips shielded by his hand, mouths the words along with her.

"Yes, thank you," Indrid replies. "Your food's ready." He points behind her.

It's just slightly too early, and that confuses her for a moment before Hilde pops out the swinging doors to the kitchen with a big sampler platter of appetizers. The neo-hippies descend upon it like a pack of wolves, and there's some semblance of peace again.

Paisley pours himself a scotch. He toasts it against the sharp shard of orange crystal behind the bar before belting it back in one gulp.

"So, you were sayin'?" Leo prompts.

Indrid shakes his head with a chuckle and spreads his drawings out on the table. "This is a dangerous time for Sylvain and Earth alike. Usually when the gates move, there's a brief quiet period between the closing of one and the opening of another. That unfortunately isn't the case this go around. There is going to be a great deal of overlap where there's an extra opening between our worlds. Luckily for us, I'm not the only one who's been tracking the gates' movements."

Leo cards through the drawings, taps on one. "This is that old friend of yours, right?"

"Barclay, yes. I foresee that he's going to pick up on the energy surge and settle down near the new gate, which is a huge relief."

"And you don't got anything to do with that?" Leo snickers.

"No, actually. Barclay is a capable tracker. That was his primary role in our expedition." Indrid looks up at the door, and his brows furrow deeply behind his glasses. It's the kind of mismatch to his unflappable façade that's only ever visible when he's turned to the side. "But we will have to save the rest of this conversation for later, I'm afraid."

"What's wrong?"

"We're about to have another unwanted guest." He tucks a wayward lock of dark hair behind his ear and gathers up his drawings, before shoving them into his messenger bag and putting on his coat. "I don't think I want to stick around for this."

"Who is it?"

"A federal agent."

Leo cringes. "That's the last thing we need."

"She's not going to cause any trouble, that I can see, but I'm still not comfortable staying here while she's around." He stands and tilts his head. "Walk me out?"

"Yeah, sure thing." Leo follows him through the back door to the dock.

It's windy on the riverside today, and it causes Indrid to bundle his coat tighter around his shoulders. Despite the chill, he drops his bag onto the deck of his houseboat but doesn't board. He sets his palms on a bulwark instead, and leans to stare out over the Hudson. The wind whips more hair loose from his ponytail. His smile has fallen from his mouth now, too.

Leo stands beside him, and tries not to be unsettled by how wrong it looks. "Somethin' on your mind?"

Indrid turns to him, opens his mouth a few times, stares down at his fidgeting hands before he takes Leo's in them delicately.

It feels like a goodbye. "You're not, y'know, leavin', are you?"

"Not quite, no." He huffs out a laugh that gets stolen away by the wind. "I'll be on the river, as usual, and I'll drop by the bar in a few days. You'll understand then."

"That all you're givin' me?"

"Yes, for now. If I tell you more, it reduces the likelihood that there will be a favorable outcome for you, and I don't see its improving anything for me, either. So!" he chirps, a little forced. "I will see you in a few days. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors, though you won't need it. You'll do beautifully." He runs his thumbs over Leo's knuckles and gives a little squeeze. Then he climbs onto his home, grabs his bag, and heads inside to drive off.

Leo waves after him and understands nothing.

\--------

Leo understands everything.

He hasn't felt this way since he was a teen. He barely recognizes himself in the mirror, clean-shaven and with a snappy new haircut. He deliberates between two shirt/tie combos, and turns to his roommate. "So, uh, should I do the power tie, or go for more subdued?"

Beacon manages to pick the exact tone of voice that makes him sound like he'd be rolling his eyes if he had any. "Do you really think I care? _I'd_ prefer you didn't participate in this folly. You have far more important priorities, and in my experience these kinds of feelings will just melt your feeble human mind. You're going to be useless."

He's already feeling kind of fried, if he's honest. He hasn't had a date in years, and he's excited and anxious all at once.

Indrid said he'd do beautifully. He's gotta trust that.

He takes a deep breath and chucks the red tie and white shirt on his bed, and goes for the blue-on-blue combo. "I don't look like a Smurf, right? Shirt's light enough, I think. Tie's got texture..."

Beacon firms his lips into a thin line and doesn't respond.

"Fine, fine, I get it. I'm not cancelin', though." He decides to wear the nice tie clip, the one from his Uncle Ruben. He turns to his sword apologetically. "I gotta leave you here, buddy. Don't think I can get away with the backpack at this place."

He grumbles. "I suppose I'll just _hang out_ , then."

Leo chuckles. If Beacon is making dumb puns about his wall plaque, he can't be that mad. "Want me to leave the TV on for ya'?"

"If you wish."

He puts on MTV, checks himself over one last time, grabs his bike, and heads down.

It's a quick ride to the restaurant, and Loryn's already there when he arrives. She's in a crisp pant suit, with simple makeup and delicate earrings that match the brass of her Medal of Honor. Her tie is the same deep red as her lips. She looks up when Leo gets closer.

His stomach does flips as he sits down across from her.

She smiles. "I ordered us a Cabernet and a salad to share. I hope that's alright."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's great. Thanks." He gives the wine a taste and serves himself up some salad. He's not really sure what he's supposed to pair with a Cabernet, or what makes it a Cabernet in the first place. Paisley would probably know. It tastes okay at least, and goes well with the salad.

Loryn recommends the filet mignon, and orders the scallops for herself.

Leo gets the filet mignon. He's glad he's not paying.

"You look very handsome. Is this all for me?"

He can feel his cheeks heating. "Yeah, it is. You look great, too."

"Thank you." She slides a hand across the table to settle on Leo's. She looks directly into his eyes. "So, that bar where we met. I take it you go there often?"

He can't look away. "Oh, yeah. I'm friends with the staff and a lotta the regulars. I sometimes do deliveries for 'em, too. Pick up ingredients from the farmer's markets, take plates to people if someone's sick and can't come in."

"Interesting." She traces one fingertip over the back of his hand. "Is this pro bono work, then?"

"Usually, yeah. I mean, I take jobs around town, but when it comes to the bar Hilde keeps me fed whether I want 'er to or not. It's a fair trade, really."

"So generous."

He smirks. "Me, or Hilde?"

That makes her laugh, and it rings out like bells. "Funny, too." She leans forward. "I appreciate that you recognize that money isn't the only meaningful reward for hard work."

Leo finds himself drawn in, as well. "Well, can't say I'd object to havin' more cash, but I've got plenty to get by. What matters is everyone's happy."

"If you ever need anything, just let me know. I have more than enough."

His jaw drops. "Now who's the generous one? We ain't even finished our first date."

"I like to be optimistic." Her lips quirk to one side. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't confident in our chances."

"Huh." He turns his hand to hold hers and gets a fluttering feeling when it causes her smile to soften. "So, what made you switch from military to FBI?"

"The war ended." She shrugs, as if it's obvious. "When the FBI reached out to me, I figured I could do more good by defending the country from home for a while."

Leo's jaw drops. "They reached out to you?"

"This helped, I'm sure." She taps the Medal of Honor.

"Honestly, like, I'm still not sure why you chose me. What could someone like you want with a bike messenger?" She must see something he doesn't. Why would a woman with Loryn's prestige give him a second glance, without even knowing about his _real_ job?

"You're too modest, Leo." She draws little circles on his palm. "It was obvious that you garner the respect of the others in the bar, and you move with a poise and confidence that I must admit I find very attractive."

"Huh," he repeats. "You really saw all that?"

"I have a keen eye. I need to, in my line of work."

He supposes she would. "You had everyone's attention when you walked in. I ain't ever seen someone command a room that way."

"I'm known for that." She slides a finger under his shirt sleeve, tracing up the inside of his wrist in a way that makes his whole body go warm. "You could be, too."

His voice has gone breathy. "Does that mean I've got your attention?"

"Most definitely."

\--------

Indrid is at their usual table when Leo arrives at the Broken Heart the next day. He seems to be looking Leo's direction, though the glasses make it hard to tell.

He bites the bullet and comes over. "Hey."

"Good morning, Leo. How did it go?"

As much as he wants to gush about his date, there are way more appropriate people he could tell. Hell, Beacon would probably be a better candidate. "Indrid, are we gonna be okay?" he asks instead.

He seems unsurprised by the question, which should in itself be unsurprising. "We've survived eight months of my pining. I can't say I'm particularly comfortable at the moment, but perhaps my heart will finally accept the message my mind has been trying to give it." His smile softens. "Despite my own feelings, my priority is that you're happy. If Loryn can give that to you, then you both have my support."

He slumps onto the tabletop. "Thanks."

Indrid runs his long fingers through Leo's hair and scratches at his scalp.

It should maybe be weird, but it just makes Leo sink further against the wood, nose squishing sideways. "Feels nice."

"Good. I know I can't give you the support you need right now. Not really. It's the least I can do."

He lets himself relax and take in the full spectrum of feelings he's having: Excitement about Loryn. Guilt, but also gratitude towards Indrid. Worry, about the gate.

"Don't be sorry," Indrid responds to future Leo. "There was nothing to be done for it. Besides, in a couple of months, I'll be reuniting with my true love."

Leo peeks up at him. "What?"

"Holiday cocktails." He grins from ear to ear.

That makes him laugh hard. "Oh god, you and those damn eggnog ones."

He sighs dreamily, leaning against his other hand. "Soon, my darlings. Soon."

Paisley cuts in from the bar. "They ain't even cocktails. They're literally just eggnog."

"That's what makes them so wonderful."

"Are you at least going to drink them the proper way this year?" Kell pipes up from where she's mopping between two tables.

Indrid looks genuinely offended. "With rum, you mean? Goodness, no."

Leo pats Indrid's hand and sits up to shake his head at Kell's naivety. "D'ya' really wanna see what he's like when he's drunk? 'Cause trust me: If you think you do, you're wrong."

Paisley groans. "Even if he ordered 'em hard, I wouldn't give 'em to him. Never again. Last time, he spoiled the endings to movies that weren't even out yet. I can't never get that back."

Hilde sweeps out of the kitchen, Richter behind her with the extra plates. "Breakfast!"

With that, they settle into a remarkably normal morning. After food, Indrid pulls out both old and new drawings to continue their conversation from the other day.

This time, Kell is there with them. "The gate's really closing?"

Indrid nods soberly. "I'm having trouble figuring out the exact timeframe, but it's going to be a while. I'm seeing much more in regards to the new gate than I am about the fate of our own. The other should be opening in a manner of days, if my estimations are correct. In good news, I did manage to pinpoint a definitive location." He slides over a sketch with a large wooden sign on it that reads, "Welcome to Beautiful Kepler!"

"Kepler? Where the hell is that?" Leo picks up the drawing and frowns at it. There's nothing else visible besides road and trees.

"It's a ski town in--ah." He pops a potato chip into his mouth, chewing for far too long before he continues. "It's in...West Virginia, just shy of the border to the state's easterly neighbor. It's small, with a stable population that hasn't broken two hundred in decades. Quite the opposite from the Big Apple here."

Kell crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Well, good riddance, if you ask me. None of us have use for a gate, if they're not letting us back through it. And this way at least you won't have to keep abominations from getting out into the city anymore, right Leo?"

"Yeah." It's not as enthusiastic as it probably should be. It's not enthusiastic at all.

Indrid pushes his glasses into his hair. It causes his flyaways to stick up at weird angles. He leans towards Leo and focuses in around his face, the flicking of his eyes centralized around that point and his expression tightening in deep concentration. "I see multiple abominations, and your victory over them. Grey hairs that aren't present yet. Hm, a change in your style of dress? It's still too far out for me to know exactly when things will shift for you, or how, so your career appears to be secure for the foreseeable future."

Leo lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Ooh, me next!" Kell bounces in her seat.

Indrid settles back into his chair and closes his eyes, rubbing over his temples. "No, I'm not going to do that. In fact, I think I need to take some time to myself, and perhaps a couple of aspirin." He settles his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, then grimaces and pulls a cleaning cloth out of his pocket.

"Here, lemme." Leo hates watching Indrid try to clean his glasses without taking them off. It isn't until the streaks are banished that he realizes how close he's put himself, and that the pink of Indrid's cheeks isn't just from the light through his lenses. _And this is how you got your friend crushing on you in the first place_ , he reminds himself. He's gonna need to be more careful in the future.

To Indrid's credit, he doesn't mention it. He does use the proximity to lean in and whisper in Leo's ear, "You're going to want to step out in a few."

"Why?"

"Your interstellar mentor is going to pay you a visit." He pats Leo's shoulder and pushes back from the table to get his things together. He steals one more chip, downs the rest of his drink, and gives a little salute.

"I hope your head feels better soon," says Kell.

"Thank you. It will." On his way out, he slips an already-folded piece of paper into the tip jar on the bar.

Paisley pulls it out, laughs, and gives Indrid the bird through the back windows.

Richter leans over the bar to refill his beer from the tap. "Oy, y'ever gonna share why ye keep takin' the piss outta each other?"

"No," Paisley says with a smirk. He holds the paper between two fingers, checks to make sure nobody's around who shouldn't be, then puffs out a flame that incinerates it. He sticks out his tongue and lets the ends separate into their natural forks.

Leo stands and stretches. "I still think they're gonna string us along for another year before they reveal the papers've been blank the whole time."

"I stand by m'guess a' dick drawins," Richter snorts.

"You know Indrid isn't that crude!" Kell adds.

The last thing Leo hears before he slips into the private dining room is Paisley saying, "Feel free to start a bettin' pot. You can put it right in this jar."

He only has time for two breaths after he shuts the door before a familiar blue glow appears before him, and forms itself into the shape of a woman.

"Leo Tarkesian, I have auspicious news!"

He pulls Beacon out of his backpack, and readies his stance. "Yeah?"

Minerva draws her sword, as well, then runs at him. "A new gate will be opening in three days!"

He parries, then counters. "Yeah, that's pretty big news alright," and the timeframe is even more specific than Indrid's was. Maybe she knows something else he doesn't. "What about the gate here?"

"Your work is not yet finished, Leo Tarkesian! You must continue to defend your New York City until it is no longer under threat from the beasts that would tear it asunder." She comes in for a low swipe, in an attempt to take out his legs.

"And what about when it does close?" His block is weaker than usual.

"Then it will be time for you to pass on the Beacon."

He swings wide. "Wait, what?"

"The identity of the new Chosen has been revealed to me!" She thrusts her blade forward.

Leo is so shocked that he doesn't react. He feels the chill of the holographic blade through his heart. Breathing is suddenly so hard that he almost mistakes the wound as real.

Minerva pulls back and drops her weapon like she's been burnt. It disappears as soon as it leaves her hand.

He's panting now, ragged and shaky. "When were you planning on tellin' me that there was more than one Chosen _One_?" His voice is strained, his hand clutched over his chest.

"I've made a terrible mistake. I should have waited until it was time."

"Or maybe you coulda told me to start with?" He stumbles sideways, drops into a chair. "How long do I have?"

Her voice is quieter now. "There are just under two years before the New York City gate will close, and Duck Newton will be of age to defend the one in Kepler."

He's shaking. "Two years." He looks at Beacon.

Minerva reaches for him. "I'm sorry, my friend. I should have found a better way to--" and she's gone.

\--------

That evening, Leo kisses Loryn Faulkner. He kisses her over and over again, until her choice is the only one that matters.

\--------

That night, he's jolted awake in an unfamiliar room, the last dregs of a prophecy sticking to his tired mind and his heavy body. Loryn cups his cheek and tells him he's safe now with her, and the putrid ichor turns to honey in his veins.

\--------

It is the summer of 1992. Leo sits on the stern of a houseboat, his legs dangling over the edge. Beside him, Indrid lets his bare feet skate the surface of the water.

"Y'know this river's gross, yeah?"

Indrid ignores him. "I'm worried about you." It isn't the first time he's said that.

Leo can ignore things, too. He lights up a cigarette and leans back to look up at the familiar skyline. The initial drag is like a gulp of air after almost drowning, such a relief that Leo almost takes too much and chokes himself. He catches it and only lets out one cough.

Indrid crinkles his nose, but doesn't comment on it. "I know you doubt my intentions, Leo, but I only wish you happiness."

"Kinda hard not to be suspicious, when you keep tellin' me to break up with my girlfriend."

"I have never told you to do that."

He blows a few smoke rings toward the Empire State, like a game of ring toss he knows he can never win. "We can all tell it's what you want to happen."

"All I wish is that you stop running away from how you really feel."

"Thought you weren't a mindreader."

"I'm not. I just have a lot of experience avoiding the things I'm afraid of." He starts to reach towards Leo's hand, but pulls back and holds his crystal instead.

Leo isn't pulling his arm away; he just needs to adjust a lopsided cufflink. "I ain't scared. I been fightin' monsters and winnin' for damn near half my life."

Indrid hooks one of those plastic six-pack rings with his big toe. It pulls a fish up with it. He frees the creature and tosses the trash onto the deck. It lands in a distressingly large pile of other rubbish. "There are many different kinds of fear, Leo."

Leo would probably stare a lot longer, if that were anywhere near the strangest thing one of his friends had done that week. "I wish you'd at least meet 'er. It's our ten month anniversary, and she probably wouldn't believe you exist, 'cept I've pointed your boat out to her."

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "Leo, she's already suspicious of me, because you told her my name is Indiana Cones. How long do you expect it would take for your extremely perceptive girlfriend to realize that I don't operate on the same timeframe as everyone else does? I'm not exactly adept at pretending to be a normal human being."

"You don't know it'd go ba--"

Indrid is giving him a look over the top of his glasses.

"Okay, yeah, nevermind. Guess you do." Leo sighs, head in his hands. "Sorry, I know you're not a bad guy, Indrid, it's just...."

"It's fine. I don't blame you for being reluctant to listen to me on this matter." He stretches and gets up, before popping into the cabin to grab the ashtray he keeps around for Leo.

"Oh, thanks there, bud." He puts out the smoke and gets up, too. He follows the sylph into the cockpit.

Indrid turns the boat around and starts heading back towards the Broken Heart. "It isn't my choice how you spend your life, nor with whom you decide to spend it. It isn't my right to make that choice for you. All I ask is that you trust that I mean well, Leo, and I wouldn't keep bringing this up if I didn't think it mattered to do so."

"Why's it always you?"

Indrid laughs, though it comes out flat. "Because I know a lot more of what's really happening than our friends do."

Leo could swear his heart's stopped.

"No, I don't go looking. Frankly, it's the last thing I want to see, but you're a persistent feature in a lot of the futures nowadays. There are things I pick up without meaning to." When they pull up at the dock, Indrid keeps steadfastly looking at the controls. He holds himself, hands folded around his upper arms.

Leo shifts from foot to foot. He thinks of a few different things he could say, questions he could ask. He doesn't; he just goes. "Hey, Paisley," he mutters when he gets inside, watching through the windows as the houseboat floats back out into the Hudson.

"'Sup?"

"Whaddaya think a' Loryn?"

The bartender cringes, and a couple dark curls of smoke float up from his nostrils. "You want the nice version, or the honest one?"

That's answer enough. He shoves his hands in his pockets and heads out.

It's a short ride home on his moped. He pulls it into the parking garage and heads up to the suite. He drops his keys in the bowl on the entry table (Loryn's aren't there, so she must be at work) and really looks at the pictures on the wall.

The two of them at Broadway shows. The two of them at banquets. The party they threw to celebrate Loryn's promotion from field agent to special agent. Leo with the other agents' partners and spouses.

He adds his cufflinks to the bowl, too, and heads straight back to the room that Loryn's dubbed his man-cave. "Hey, Beacon."

The sword is silent. He's been silent a lot lately.

He sighs and kicks off his loafers, strips out of his button-down and slacks, and flops into the recliner in just a tank, boxers, and socks.

The pictures on the walls in here are different: The crew at the Broken Heart. Dances and potlucks and his brother's wedding at St. Illuminator's. Leo with the first bike he ever bought with his own money. The sketch from the day he dragged a stressed Indrid to Central Park and told him to only record happy futures, and Indrid ended up drawing Leo toppling into Turtle Pond when he tried to pet a duck.

He hits play on his stereo, closes his eyes, and doesn't think.

\--------

A sharp voice shouts his name, and it startles him out of his impromptu nap. He's up, Beacon drawn from the wall and pointed at the door.

Loryn walks in and stops dead.

He pants and slowly, shakily lowers his weapon. "Uh. Hey, babe."

She schools her expression, and looks between Beacon and Leo's face, then takes in his state of undress. She frowns and holds a closed hand in front of her. Then, she drops his cufflinks on the floor. "Those don't go in the bowl. Get dressed for our date, please." She slams the door behind her.

Leo slumps back into the recliner, and wonders when he stopped feeling safe in his own home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to cover the entire NYC section, and then back to Leo in the present, but I needed to stop it here for personal reasons. Next chapter will be Indrid's POV, finishing up the backstory stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ♥ This fic now has a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/morganeashton/playlist/72ZmRIYC3KAQ2k8cdiVrXf?si=wrlw5pq8Tu-rwxz42B8Ahw), which I'll keep updating as I write and find more songs that fit. (If you do happen to listen and have any questions about why a song is on there, feel free to ask! Most of them are associated with something very specific in this story.)
> 
> If you want to check me out on other sites:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorganEAshton) | [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/morganedwardashton/) | [Tumblr](http://morganeashton.tumblr.com/) | [DeviantART](https://www.deviantart.com/morganedwardashton) | [Soundcloud](https://soundcloud.com/morganeashton)


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